Four in the Attic, One in the Kitchen

Revelations

She was as beautiful as always, wearing beautiful clothes as always, and as serene as always. I had missed her dearly, even in the few hours, but I willed my face to say nothing. Grandfather was a statue, wrinkles denoting age. I could see the resemblance. Grandmother again pushed the door closed, and I stood straight, hands behind my back politely.

Grandfather sat up straighter. "Lucille," I stood straighter as well, to match him. "This is your cousin, Corinne."

I nodded, and curtsied to Momma.

"Corinne, your cousin Lucille Winfield, on your mother's side."

She smiled warmly, and we shook hands, greeting each other formally. It was strange to greet one's parent like a stranger.

Grandfather's face had been unwavering for the time, and did not change.

"Corinne," He began, slowly speaking. "has sinned in the most terrible manner. For the last fifteen years, she has been forgotten almost entirely by me and Olivia. She has come today to beg forgiveness."

I took it in. I knew there was some sin. What it was exactly, I didn't know. I knew her disownment. I knew she was begging. Momma was calm, but I noted the tiniest signs of fear; sweaty palms, wringing fingers, the idle pushing of hair behind an ear. I watched her swallow a lump in her throat.

"It will take time." He continued. "Her fall from the path of God was exceedingly far. It will take plenty of effort to show me that she has taken God back into her heart. It will take plenty of effort to show me that she loves me."

I nodded, still not showing emotion.

"Her sin is unforgivable by the Lord, but perhaps she will be granted some level mercy in heaven. Upon this plane, however, my mercy will not be spared. Olivia?"

I glanced to Grandmother. She stood as stony faced as her husband. She strode to his bedside, and gazed at him with cool eyes.

Grandfather looked back at her. "Her punishment is due. It is, in fact, long neglected." He pointed to a corner of the room, and my eyes followed the path of his finger. It gestured to the plain looking writing desk, cupboard doors closed, papers neatly stacked, and fountain pen in its holder. "Take the whip." He commanded.

My blood froze. If they were going to whip her, I didn't know how I could bear it. Then again, I tried to reason; perhaps it was a metaphor, or just a warning. Grandmother strode to the desk, and opened the top set of doors. My optimism was falsely placed, and I watched her pull out a long whip, handle made of rich wood wrapped in reddish brown leather. It looked used, but the leather strap used to torture had been replaced.

"Strip." Grandfather instructed Momma. She did so obediently. Grandmother looked me in the eye, and then to a chair next to Grandfather. I sat there quickly and silently.

Momma stood in the center of the room, in only a brassiere and underwear. She seemed bare naked, even without her filmy negligee she normally wore when she had come out of a bath. Creamy white skin was bathed in a yellowish light coming from the lamps, and I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, even if she was nervously shifting. It was surreal.

"Corrine Foxworth." He said firmly. "You lived in sin for sixteen years. Upon the conception of your child, if any remained, all the grace of God left you. With the destruction of that child, some may have returned. But not all."

I wasn't supposed to be here. Her punishment was because of me. I should've been dead.

"Corinne." He continued. "For each of those sixteen years, you will receive a lash. Amnon, son of David, was put to death by Absalom for your very crime. Take this as pity."