I loved your father. He wanted you as much as I did.
—R.
I’ll run away. Before my sixteenth birthday I could leave. Pack my stuff. Head south and sleep on the beach. Get jobs cleaning. Cooking.
And leave the kids? Leave Bodie and Nicole to suffer this alone? Leave whatever kids might show up between now and February tenth?
I focused my attention on the creek ahead of me. The water crept by, muddy brown like hot chocolate. The trees were giant stacks of chopsticks and toothpicks reaching for spring. Noses of turtles broke the surface of the icy water. In the murky water, catfish seemed as big as the Loch Ness Monster itself. Damselflies flitted along the banks with cardinals, and scampering gray squirrels were mere shapes and illusions of movement.
I curled over my stomach. Coward. I wouldn’t leave. Couldn’t leave the kids behind. Couldn’t take them with me. I’d be reported for kidnapping. I’d end up in prison. Would it be worse than DG? Could it be? If I was honest with myself, odds were even that the roughest place for a juvenile had to be better than this. I was almost at the point where I was willing to try. Willing to risk and see. But then, I’d be stuck in that prison instead of this one, the kids would come right back here, and I’d never be able to help them. No kid had ever stayed at DG beyond their sixteenth birthday—why was I so set on being the first? I could barely look past this minute. The future overwhelmed and evaded me, like trying to find a particular salt molecule in the entire dark ocean.
No, I must stay. Maybe I could convince Mistress to let me work here until I was eighteen. If I worked harder, promised more of me, somehow found more hours to slave, hid my injuries better. I was too afraid, too paralyzed to do more than stay and tell myself I didn’t care what happened next. Maybe if I repeated to myself that I didn’t care, said it enough, I’d start to believe it.
I pulled out the postcard Ms. Asura had given me. I’d tucked it into my shoe so Mistress wouldn’t find it. Kirian. I was thirteen when he’d left in the night, no goodbye, no kiss. I’d thought he was my family, my friend, my boyfriend. And then he left me here. Occasionally, I got postcards like this one, passed through Ms. Asura. Miss you. Working hard to save up for us. I love you, Kirian.
In the dark of the attic, Kirian reached his hand out and touched mine. We entwined our fingers. My heart beat so hard I was sure he could hear it.
“Where should we go first?”
“Hollywood,” he answered.
“Why?”
“Lots of beaches, and we can camp on the sand.”
“I’ll cook.”
“We can start a restaurant. You’ll do the food and I’ll—”
“Take care of our children!” I giggled.
“Kids?” He guffawed. “How many?”
“Lots and lots and lots. And pets. I want a potbellied pig like Miss Claudia talked about.”
“A pig?”
“And a dog. A parrot.”
“No cat?”
“Of course, and a horse.”
“A horse, of course!”
Evening fell around me. I stole ten minutes out here while the kids finished eating and Mistress was still away. Nights were seasonably cold, with ice and frost, but the days were oddly warm—enough so I didn’t need to be in more than shirtsleeves to sit outside. My thrift-store hand-me-downs had fewer threads than were ideal. We could scavenge anything from the belongings of those who left in body bags. By the time it was our turn, nothing of value remained. But I could at least squirrel away clothes that kids might sleep in, or play in, or layer on during the cold nights when Mistress refused to heat the attic and they all huddled in a pile. Tonight, I wore a purple wool cardigan. Mrs. Mahoney’s sweater had the faintest hint of lavender soap clinging to it, no matter the number of times I washed it. There was a time when I had sat with all the guests and listened to their stories and knew their names and histories.
I chewed on my cuticles. The sting and pinch as I peeled skin back made me feel something, which I desperately needed. My fingers looked as if I’d taken a cheese shredder to them. They bled. Often and profusely. I tried not to pick at them, I really did. But the blood reminded me I lived, at least for now, and the sting of disinfectant while I cleaned helped keep me awake. Not even NoDoz kept me going like pain.
I pulled off my shoes and socks and tucked my toes into the water and mud along the creek bed. My crooked and swollen toes quickly stiffened with cold and the rest of me was racked with a chill. Numbing.
I turned my head to rest it on my knees, so I was able to stare at DG behind me. The three stories of dormers and white columns gave it a stately if neglected appearance. Up close the paint was yellowed and chipped, far away it was harder to tell. Mistress would make the kids paint the house this summer. I won’t be here to help.
DG was the only home I’d ever really known. I didn’t remember anything before arriving here. Nothing solid. Just feelings and fuzzy dreams that I was fairly certain I made up to make my reality more bearable.
There was staff employed by Mistress to help with the guests, to clean, to repair, but mostly to keep an eye on us kids. Some of them were chasing their own American dreams, illegally and in the shadows, keeping their heads down to get paid. Not seeing us. Others filled the air with the scent of unprosecuted criminals—people for whom the system failed the rest of us. Of these, I made sure they were never left alone with a kid or a guest, but there was only so much I could control.
The few times an employee seemed to notice, to actually witness what happened here and worry for us, they stopped coming to work. I didn’t know what happened to them. They disappeared as quickly and mutely as they came.
But one woman, Miss Katie, asked me many questions, took photographs of bruises, told me things, things about why this wasn’t the way the world should be. That not all places were like this. That the police would help us. With wide eyes one evening before she left, she snuck me a scrap of paper with her cell-phone number on it and told me to call her any time, that if I needed to get out, she’d help me. She stopped coming in to work and when I called that number a week later I’m fairly certain Mistress was the one who answered.
People who cared didn’t care for long. This left us with people who didn’t speak English, and while their eyes worked fine, they were blinded by fear, or necessity, or something else. Victims, prisoners, like the rest of us. No one was going to rescue us.
“I don’t care what they say. I’m not leaving without you.”
“They’ll make you.”
“They can’t make me. I’ll fight them.”
“You can’t fight all of them.”
“Watch me. I’m getting you out of here with me.… ”
Kirian wasn’t going to ride in on a white horse and slay the dragon for me. No matter what his postcards might imply.
Bodie ran out to find me. “Juliet, she’s back. It’s bad.”
I grabbed my shoes and ran to the house, outdistancing Bodie. Mistress was home early. Had the kids finished eating the ravioli? Were the dishes cleaned? Damn it, you’re an idiot, Juliet.
I heard the screeching while I wiped the mud off my feet with hurried, clumsy fingers. Tracking dirt in would definitely draw my blood.
“Nice of you to join us, Missy,” Mistress accused.
“I told you she was bathing.” Nicole blinked, but didn’t look at me. At least I know which lie to stick with.
“Shut up, little girl. Bathing is a luxury she can do when her work is finished. Isn’t it?”
My cue. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Who brought this abomination into my home?” She pointed at a plate with a few specks of white Parmesan cheese and red marinara sauce. Even though the kitchen windows were open wide, there were still the scents of garlic, basil, and tomato clinging to the air.
Tell her? Don’t tell her? My mind raced with the options and lies and stories. Try to find the least painful choice. Everything was a gamble. Some days she’d beat; some days she’d take away necessities but not lay a hand on anyone.
I was still weighing the options when Sema piped up. “It’s just pasta.”
“It’s just pasta, you say? Nothing is just anything. This wasn’t on the week’s menu. This wasn’t purchased by our budget, was it? Who provided the money to purchase it? Who bought it and gave it out? Who? I want to know exactly who was involved, don’t I? This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed strange foods or smells around here, is it? Was this made in this kitchen? Was it? Made in this house with my supplies and my tools and my time? I don’t pay for you, or care for you, to make ‘just pasta,’ do I?” Her face flushed a matching tomato red and sweat dribbled down her nose, hanging for a second before dripping off. Her ire nauseated me and I threw up a little in my mouth, then swallowed it back.
I felt Bodie tremble.
Out of options. I shuffled forward a step. “I made it.”
“You made it? You who lazes about like a queen bathing can make a fresh sauce? You can’t warm soup or heat fish sticks. Do you really think me stupid enough to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” I crossed my arms behind my back, twisting my thumbs against each other.
“Truth? Haven’t you learned yet that I speak the truth, not you? None of you are hungry anymore, are you? Bodie, aren’t you hungry after cleaning the bathrooms today? Oh, wait, you didn’t actually do much cleaning, did you?”
It wasn’t that she knew our tricks to protect the little kids from punishment; she simply assumed we hadn’t done the tasks. We were guilty until proven, well, guilty.
“Are you hungry, Bodie?” This was a trick question. If we were hungry, then she’d make us eat horrid things from the trash cans, but if we weren’t, then we’d go empty for a meal, or three.
“I’m full,” Bodie said.
Nicole told me the law stated that patients had to be fed all meals, even when they no longer tolerated solid food. The kids knew they got whatever they wanted after fifteen minutes of food sitting in front of a guest. Mistress’s theory was it kept us hungry to work and was good for the environment. No waste. Efficient. And it cut down on the food bills. Why it was one of the few laws she followed was beyond me.
Very rarely did Mistress let me feed the kids in addition to whatever food was served guests. Of course, the exception was the day Ms. Asura came to visit. This meal was planned well in advance. Which is why I cooked while Mistress was out and we hid nonperishable food for those days when there wasn’t enough provided for us.
Bodie’s expression hardened with a child’s stubbornness. “Yes, I’m full.”
“Oh, you are, are you? Are the rest of you just as full as our little prince here?”
We nodded. I knew the smaller kids took their cue from me, but I didn’t know what would come next.
“Then, Juliet, bring me the grater, please.”
I hesitated.
“Do you not know where it is?”
I knew exactly where it was kept. “There are several sizes, Mistress.”
“The one with the handle, then, okay?” she sneered.
“The menu doesn’t call for grating this week?” I tried to make it a question, but I didn’t move.
“Are you questioning my request?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then, where is it?” She held out her hand.
I moved slowly, my stomach clenched. I snagged the grater out of a drawer and placed it in her hand without making eye contact.
“Bodie, would you like to be first?” She leaned down and over him.
He swallowed, but didn’t answer.
“What was I thinking? Juliet, here.” She handed the grater to me and I turned to put it back in the drawer. “You don’t think we’re finished with it, do you? No, of course you know better than that, don’t you?”
As I turned to face her, I glanced at Bodie. His scared eyes were round and too large in his face.
“Shall he get ten, or twenty, spanks?” she asked the world around us.
Bodie’s head shook. “I—I—I—” Panic made him wet himself.
“You turd. Now, who is going to clean up that mess?” She huffed. “Juliet, will you do the honors?”
“I’ll clean it up.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, don’t you? Of course you’ll clean it up. Spank Bodie, then every child you served the ‘just pasta’ to. Ten spanks on bare buttocks should do it, won’t it? Nicole, help them pull down their pants.” Mistress scraped a chair back and settled her hefty frame into it like we were performing a play for her enjoyment. There was a gleam in her eye, a sparkle that only ever shone when one of us was hurt.
I’d been hit plenty. I’d seen older kids have to spank younger ones with belts and branches and wooden spoons. I’d shared the pain of those who hit me and those who got hit next to me. Up until this moment, I’d never been handed the tool and the mandate to hit.
“You’re almost sixteen, Juliet.”
Shocked that she remembered, I twisted and met her gaze.
“You’re almost an adult. It’s time I started treating you like one. Get to it.”
Tears threatened, but I sucked them back, knowing they’d make everything worse.
Nicole peeled Bodie’s wet pants down his legs, then pressed him against her stomach, holding his face and petting his hair. It was the most comforting she could do.
I stared at the grater in my hand. If I do this, it will be over quickly and I can try to keep the hits as light as possible.
“Do you think I have all day? Get cracking.”
Nicole stared at me steadily. I knew that giving me strength and love with her eyes was the only way she could help.
I lifted the grater higher. I can’t. This was my enough, my line. I swiftly lowered the grater before I changed my mind by thinking of the pain I would be forced to endure for holding my ground. “I won’t hit him. Any of them.”
Mistress glared at me. “Do you dare contradict an order?”
I nodded, watching Nicole tense further. “I will not hit a child.”
“Are you saying none of you deserve discipline?”
“No, ma’am. You may hit me all you’d like.” I carefully didn’t meet her eyes and tried to appear smaller than my almost six feet.
“You’ll let me, will you? Give it.” She held out a hand and lumbered to her feet.
I handed the grater to her, deliberately placing my body in front of the other kids.
“Down to your skivvies now and on your knees,” she barked at me. “You’ll all watch. No tears, no sniffles. You’ll watch and you’ll remember the lesson today.”
Nicole started to step forward and open her mouth, but I jerked my head and made a face so she’d cease. She was the type who’d stand next to me, to take her share to protect the others, but I feared that this wasn’t about even distribution of pain, but something deeper and more personal. Nicole might very well make it all worse.
As I undressed as quickly as I could, I knew I should feel shame or embarrassment over my graying boy shorts and threadbare bra; but really, all I saw was the world hazy at the edges as I tried not to pass out. I wondered if I’d get away with taking all the hits for the kids, or if she’d still beat them, too.
It wasn’t the thwacks that bothered me as much as the whistle in the air before the grater made contact. I knelt facing the kitchen window so I could see the creek and the birds. Mini perched on a top branch of a tree near the window, so even from the floor I saw her, but no one else was able to. She caught my gaze and held it. Her body grew still and even her tail didn’t twitch. She just held my vision steady and strong and willed me through it.
Mistress avoided places on my back with any padding. She aimed for my ribs and my vertebrae, my shoulders and shoulder blades. I lost count at thirty.
Finally, the ringing phone grabbed her attention away from me.
“Juliet, I expect this grater to be cleaned and disinfected before you leave the kitchen. The rest of you, you have jobs to do. Go!” Mistress slammed through the kitchen hallway to her office and living quarters.
We heard the rumble of her voice on the phone before any of us moved. Nicole and Bodie helped me get to my feet.
Bodie’s upper lip was caked with snot and his cheeks were streaked with saltwater tracks. “So sorry. So sorry.” His breakdown opened the floodgates of the other ones. I knew physical abuse was part of the past for several of them. Even in my pain-filled stupor, I knew I needed to somehow make this right for them. To show them I was okay, that I would survive, that this wasn’t the end of my world.
Pain made my muscles twitch and seize, but I choked that down until my clothes were all in place and I faced the kids. My back was warm and sticky; the skin stung with the contact of the fabric. It was the bone bruises I knew would echo much longer.
“I’m okay. I’ll heal. You did nothing wrong.”
Sema’s little voice piped up. “You should have beat us.”
“No, I shouldn’t have.” I didn’t bend well, but I made sure I kept eye contact with her. “It’s not okay. It’s not okay to hit anyone. So, no, I shouldn’t have. Mistress shouldn’t have, but I’m strong. I’ll live and we’ll be okay.”
“So sorry.” Bodie attached himself to my leg like a barnacle. The pressure of his little arms squeezing on raw flesh forced the breath from my lungs, but I couldn’t push him away.
“Juliet is right.” Nicole passed out the hard butterscotch candy she always seemed to have in her pockets. “Hitting isn’t okay. And someday Mistress will know that too. Now, let’s do our chores and give Juliet a few minutes. Come on, Bodie, let’s get you new pants.” Nicole picked up the bloody grater and put it in the sink. “I’ll take care of this,” she said.
Gratefully, I let her shepherd the kids away. My knuckles turned white from holding myself up against the counter. I knew Mistress would check on the grater first thing. It would take me a while to get the bits of myself out of it, but when I leaned over the sink and picked it up, the metal was shiny and polished. As if nothing had touched it.
Mini leapt from the tree fluidly and trotted off toward the creek.
The rest of my evening flew by. Nicole put the kids to bed and tucked them in. I needed to bathe, for real this time, and have her disinfect my back so I would heal without infection. Doctors weren’t an option.
“Juliet, I love you.” Bodie found me doing laundry.
“What are you doing still awake?”
“I had to say sorry again.”
Nicole appeared in the doorway behind him, shaking her head in apology.
I put down the towels and stacks of worn-out clothing for the kids and hugged him to me. “Bodie, I will be okay. I don’t want you to feel bad. You did nothing wrong. Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
I dropped my voice to a whisper, “No, nothing. Mistress is mean and horrible and she’d have hit me anyway.”
“But I ate the pasta—”
“We all did. And we will again. I need you to promise me something, though, okay?”
“Any-ting.”
“Tonight when you sleep? I want you to dream about cookies, okay?”
“Cookies?
“Mm-hmm. A world where everything is made of chocolate-chip cookie dough and you can eat anything you want to.”
“Everything?”
“Can you do that for me?” I winked conspiratorially.
“I can.” He nodded his head like I’d given him a monumental, impossibly important task.
I kissed his forehead as Mini wandered in and meowed at me.
“Hi, kitty. Who needs Juliet?” Bodie bent and kissed Mini’s forehead in the same manner I’d kissed him.
“Horsey Room needs you,” Bodie pronounced before leaving.
Nicole watched him trudge away. “You want me to check on Mr. Daniels?”
“No, I’ll go.” I was too wiped to wonder how Bodie knew such a thing, or if he was guessing.
“You sure?”
Mini trotted along beside us up the stairs.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I opened the Horse Room door. Mini jumped up onto his chest in two hurried strides.
Nicole ushered Bodie back off to bed.
I greeted Mr. Daniels, who opened his eyes at my voice. I began by telling him the day and time, and who I was. I assumed guests might have questions or might not recognize me. I tried to carefully answer any unasked questions or explain things easily misunderstood. I didn’t want them more scared than they needed to be. Ever. I checked his breathing, dampened his lips lightly, and washed his face with a warm cloth. All things Kirian had taught me in the year before he’d left.
I settled into a chair with Mini in my lap. I pet her with both hands, one scratching beneath her chin, the other flowing down her back. Perhaps the soothing motion refocused my mind, away from my back, because the stinging burn of the wounds lessened.
I checked Mr. Daniel’s pulse as his feet moved restlessly under the sheets and blankets. Fidgeting was a sign I’d learned to notice.
He grabbed my hand, startling me, and I met his very clear blue eyes. “You are loved. You are special. You are a miracle.”
I had no idea what to say. I’d never heard his voice. The elderly sometimes asked for people or water, but mostly they were either unconscious on arrival or Mistress kept them doped up and silent.
While gripping my hand almost painfully, he threw off his covers with his other hand and sat up. “It’s so beautiful. She tried to protect you. Tried to keep you safe, but she’s sent help. They’re here, all around us. Loving. Helping.” He saw beyond me. He smiled, showing dimples, and I briefly glimpsed the young man he once was.
“Juliet. Juliet!” My name came from a distance.
I opened my eyes to find myself leaning with my head against the mattress. Mr. Daniel’s hand had relaxed and chilled in mine. His covers were askew.
“What happened?” I asked Nicole.
“I think you fainted.” Nicole peered into my eyes. “Are you okay?” Her concern was palpable.
“I don’t know. Mr. Daniels—he sat up and said things.”
“He’s gone. I left you about an hour ago, and he was gone when I came back in, but you wouldn’t wake up.”
I stood, clutching the bedclothes, vertigo rocking me. “Where’s Mini?” My knees felt swollen and stiff like I’d been kneeling for hours on broken glass.
“I don’t know, I didn’t see her. You’re frowning. What hurts besides your back?”
“My knees. I have a headache.” The usual. “Who’s the staff tonight?”
“Chi.” Nicole placed a hand on my forehead. “Take a breath in.”
I inhaled, but didn’t have patience for her efforts to help me cope, so I exhaled almost as quickly. “Ask him to deal. I need sleep.”
“Okay.” Nicole helped me down to my closet. Each step we took seemed to loosen my joints. “How’s your back?”
“Doesn’t hurt.” I realized as the words came out of my mouth that it was the truth.
That night, I dreamed of a woman with long blond hair like mine who smiled at me, hugged me, and kissed away my boo-boos. And a tiny girl with curly hair who beckoned me while holding out her hand.