The Runt of the Litter

Chapter Thirteen

4th August 1835

Jonathan sauntered up to the attic. It had been a while since he had visited his little sister. He felt a little guilty knowing she was up there alone for the few weeks he hadn't visited with no one to talk to.

Maybe she'd practiced some of what he had taught her.

Unlocking the hatch, he carefully lifted his lamp into the dim room. It was cloudy and dark out  - very unlike summer. It was raining and no light shone through the window. He could still just about make out his sister's body looking out the window, as usual. Rocking back and forth on her haunches, clenched fists holding up her head.

"Hey...it's me..." he whispered, trying to sound happy. Again, she didn't notice he was there. He needed some sort of name for her but none came to mind. "Emma" was one of his favourite names for a girl, but with his wife pregnant yet again it was best to save it in case the baby was a girl...

Making his way towards her, he placed his lamp on the windowsill. The flame flickered to show disturbing shadows on her face. Maybe it was just the light on her skin...

"It's Jonathan..." he tapped her shoulder lightly, her head swung around and cowered away to the corner of the room. How...odd. She hid her face in her knees, letting two fearful eyes gaze over. "What's wrong?"

What happened here?

He knelt down, and extended his hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you..." he reassured. She didn't seem to understand, or she didn't believe. He felt a sting of hurt at the possibility of the latter. Maybe he should put things simply, like when she was a child...

He had an idea.

"Happy?" he grinned like a maniac. He received no answer. "Sad?" He stuck out his bottom lip and mimed crying. She nodded gingerly. "Sad..."

He ran a hand through his hair. Jonathan was beginning to doubt if it was really the flames that gave the marks on her face. Had his idiot of a father done something again? But he would have made a racket if that was the case. No...it wouldn't be his father.

Was it?

"Why are you sad?" Jonathan sympathised, desperate to make her trust him again. Why this sudden lack of confidence?

He could see her mind whirring, trying to find the right words to express her feelings. Something she was generally incapable of.

"Sc...scared..." she muttered, and he knew that she was probably making the face behind her knees to show him just what she meant. Scared...who had taught her that word? Maybe she had got it herself. Maybe she wasn't as simple as everyone regarded her as...

"What made you scared?" Jonathan encouraged softly, creeping a little closer to her. She didn't shrink back into the wall. She shuffled slightly forwards, but kept her face covered with her knees. He hated the faceless being who had done this to her. This was the girl who was usually talkative, even if she didn't know how to talk properly. This was the girl who loved to be embraced and listened to. This was the confident child who despite herself, would drift off in conversation, and attempt to share what her thoughts had been. The most pure of souls, honest and simple.

She opened her mouth to speak, then gazed straight past him. Her eyes widened with fear and she moulded herself into the wall, he heard one small, fearful word through her trembling body.

"Mummy!"