My Hands Hold My Story (Rough Draft)

Chapter Ten

Smiling while I did whatever my stepmother ordered me to do only seemed to annoy her. Maybe she expected me to be miserable, but I could hide what I was feeling the same as anyone else. It was...satisfying to annoy her, as bad as that might sound.

Each day was the same as the previous two weeks: washing, mending, ironing, cleaning, and weeding the garden. Susan, for whatever reason, took over gathering eggs in the morning. At the very least, Cordelia wouldn't put all the chores on me and leave nothing to her own children.

What I hated the most was when my stepmother would order me to change or dress the toddlers. Sam hated me on sight, wanting Cordelia and no one else, and he would scream. I couldn't hear it, but the sight of his bright head, tear stained face was more than I could take. Oddly enough, Katie appeared to have warmed up to me, though, smiling every time she saw me.

How soon before there was a new baby? I wanted to ask but I doubted Anna and Cordelia would tell me.

Two weeks more passed with each day like the previous weekdays' had been. Every Sunday, I was left behind because 'it was easier for me.' It was a stupid reason and though I think they knew it, it was the only one they gave me.

Did Father know what she was doing? What did she have to gain by ostracizing me? I couldn't leave because where would I go and how would I have the money to get there? Did she like the tension, the fighting? I certainly didn't.

On Sunday, as I sat on the porch steps with my sketch equipment, I realized I'd been in Montana for a month. I was no closer to my brother or father and I didn't know how I would be able to do so.

As I brushed at my eyes, Remy came up to me. A frown on his face, he settled down beside me. It was the first time he'd stayed behind on a Sunday since the foal was born, and I briefly wondered what had kept him on the ranch this time. Managing a wobbly smile, I faced him. Why did he always find me when I was an emotional mess?

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head, which he didn't seem to like. It was just too hard to explain. His gaze dropped to my sketches and he raised his eyebrows. He reached over and asked, "May I?"

For a moment, I hesitated. I'd never showed anyone my sketches, besides my art teacher at school. What would be the harm, though? I nodded and handed him the leather portfolio that contained my work. He took off his hat and set it on the step next to himself.

I watched him as he flipped through the pages. I'd tried to sketch some of my memories from my journey across the country since I hadn't had my paper and pencils at the time. The most recent ones, the ones I'd just drawn, were on top, and pictures from earlier in the year were on the bottom.

Watching him, I wondered, not for the first time, why Remy was so nice to me. He wasn't gaining anything from it. Did he feel sorry for me? I wouldn't have been surprised if he did. I felt sorry for myself.

Too late I realized which sketch he had in his hand. I reached to take it from him but he held it out of reach. He looked from the paper to me with a frown. "Did this happen?"

The sketch was a third person view of Uncle Richard and myself but no one but me would know it. In the picture, the man was holding my wrist, keeping me from getting away. His other hand was upraised as though he was about to strike.

Desperately, I tried to take it from him. His frown deepening, Remy handed it to me. He didn't stop watching me as I slipped it back under the other sketches. He caught my hand and I felt compelled to tell him what I hadn't told me family. I gave a slow nod.

His eyes darkened with anger and he pointed at me. I nodded again. Yes, I was the girl in the sketch. For a moment, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Then, Remy refocused on me. "Who?" he asked.