999_ Twenty-Nine Original Tales of Horror and Suspense - Al Sarrantonio [152]
Elizabeth pulled the sweater closed to cover the mud-flecked blouse beneath. Funny, how she didn’t notice when it happened … but, then again, she hadn’t noticed so much before tonight. …
“What have you done?” her mother asked again, accusing, all but dropping the covered casserole dish on the table when she mirrored Elizabeth’s action and reached up to clutch the front of her housedress.
“You’ve been raped, haven’t you?” The words were cold and sharp and stinging, and left bruises where they hit. “I warned you about walking through those woods, Elizabeth, and now look what’s happened. You’re ruined. No man will ever look at you again.”
Elizabeth fingered the broken thread from one of the missing buttons.
“No, Mother, I wasn’t raped. I—tripped, that’s all. That path was rather muddy.” The chill moved from her lungs, giving Elizabeth a chance to catch her breath, and made itself comfortable in her untouched womb. “I’m fine.”
“Oh.” With a sigh, her mother dropped her hand and busied herself with the casserole. “Well, dinner is probably ruined thanks to your tardiness. I try to make sure everything is timed perfectly and you think nothing of wandering in whenever it pleases you.”
“1 didn’t plan on being late, Mother.”
“That’s no excuse, Elizabeth. Now, go into the kitchen and wash your hands before the stew gets any colder than it already is.” Sitting herself at the head of the table, her mother began ladling out the steaming chunks of meat and vegetables. “I’ll not wait for you if you don’t mind.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, nodding as she walked to the kitchen. “Of course not, Mother. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Her mother grunted something in reply, but Elizabeth decided to not notice.
The water, though only lukewarm, stung the abrasions on Elizabeth’s hands as she scrubbed them clean. For all of her life her mother had taught her that pain was the only thing you could truly believe. If whatever it was you did didn’t hurt somehow, then it wasn’t worth the effort.
Her mother had not been a good mother.
The chill in her womb rolled over lazily, like a kitten stretching in the sun, when Elizabeth turned off the taps and dried her hands. Her mother didn’t know how to be a good mother.
Arms straight out in front, fingers pointing to the ceiling, Elizabeth turned her palms toward her and then back. And sighed.
Her poor hands were clean, but the flesh was red and swollen from the vigorous washing and two nails had snapped off at bizarre angles. She’d have to file and mend them before the Kindergarten’s Story Hour in the morning.
The older children wouldn’t notice, but the little ones … the babies, they saw everything. She had to be so careful around the babies.
My Precious One.
There was the clank and clatter of metal upon china from the dining room—her mother’s subtle way of telling Elizabeth she was taking much too long at the assigned task.
But the clinking and clatter didn’t stop when Elizabeth got back to the table.
“You didn’t bring the dinner rolls, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth let her throbbing hands settle against the chill in her womb. Her mother was not a good mother … but she’d show her, she’d show her. “I didn’t know I was supposed to, Mother.”
Her mother’s fork hit the side of the dinner plate and made it sing. “Well, isn’t that just like you? I would have thought a grown woman, a supposedly mature woman would have taken it upon herself to notice if the dinner rolls were on the table or not and do something about it … without having her Mommy have to tell her. My God, Elizabeth, don’t you notice anything?”
Not until today, Mother.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile as she turned and walked back to the kitchen.
“And don’t forget the butter,” her mother whined. “You know I like butter on