My Hands Hold My Story (Rough Draft)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mrs. Evers showed me the stew she'd started for our dinner, and then, she left. There was nothing else for her to do, I suppose, since Cordelia didn't want her in the house. At least, I would know her name when we met in church on Sunday.

Father, his eyes red rimmed, and Anna returned in the wagon late that evening, and I realized they must have gone to the general store. It made sense. Life must go on, the store must be tended, no matter the tragedy that occurred.

Once again, no one spoke over the meal. Anna took Katie and Sam into the second downstairs bedroom immediately after supper. I would have had them sleep upstairs with us again, but it was not a fight worth getting upset over.

With Anna out of the room for a moment, I made sure to make a note about what I had seen my stepsister do with the money at the general store. I didn't wait to see Father's reaction when I dropped it in front of him. What he chose to do with the information, whether he believed me or not, was up to him.

My somber mood followed me to bed that night. Cordelia's past had come as a shock to me, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Was she truly being hard on me because she was outcast? I would have thought her own experiences in life would have made her more compassionate.

How wrong I was.

Restless, I tossed and turned in my bed. Something hard hit my head. Sitting up, I realized I must have made some kind of noise and someone—it wasn't hard to guess who was to blame—had thrown a boot at me. Sending a glare across the attic, I rubbed at the soreness in the side of my head and, in a moment of spite, I put Anna's boot between my bed and the wall.

See how she liked it in the morning when she only had one boot.

With a sigh, I returned to my ruminating. Being obedient hadn't done anything to appease my stepmother's temper. Standing up to her had only made my father's life miserable. Was there no middle ground?

My thoughts drifted to Remy. There had been such sorrow on his face when we buried the baby. How many family members or friends had he helped put in the ground? There was so much I wished I knew about him, but there hadn't been a chance for us to really get to know each other.

Time, as I knew all too well, continued on. Maybe there would be opportunities, by means of body language and writing, to have a conversation.

In that moment, I couldn't think of anything I wanted more.

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The next morning, I woke to the smell of hot coffee. A glance across the attic revealed that Anna and Susan were both still in bed. Curious to know who was already up, I rose and dressed with haste.

Of course, there was the matter of Anna's boot. I didn't want to leave it where it was hid. My stepsister would be furious and I wouldn't put it past her to destroy my things when she went in search of her boot.

So, I made my bed, retrieved the boot from beside the wall, and carried it downstairs with me. I went straight to the front door and dropped the boot there. There was nothing to stop Anna from going through my things but she wasn't going to find what she was looking for.

Satisfied, I started toward the kitchen and came to an abrupt halt. Standing over the stove, was Cordelia. She glanced my way and I saw her pale face. There was no trace of red rimmed eyes such as had been on Father's face. In fact, I saw none of the grief I had expected a bereaved mother to have.

Perhaps she was still in a kind of shock?

Without a word, my stepmother returned to stirring something in the pot on the stove. Her shoulders were tense, as though she were expecting some kind of physical blow or an accusation.