Four in the Attic, One in the Kitchen

Sunday Morning News

 I didn't stay in the attic much longer than that. Cathy refused to listen to me, bitterly refusing the candies I'd brought. Deep down, I understood her rage. Who wouldn't? She hadn't spoken to a single soul besides Chris, the twins, Momma, or Grandmother in years. She'd been confined to a tiny room and attic, she hadn't seen the sun as far as I knew. Anyone would have that cabin fever. I snuck back down to my room around two in the morning, heart heavy and pockets no lighter than before. As I lay in bed, hot tears ran down my cheeks in the realization that my siblings, however much I had missed them, didn't miss me the same. Cathy hated me, Chris was indifferent, and the twins barely remembered me. I had to remind them of the things we had done, of who I was.

I turned to face the window. The key had been stuffed back into the hole in the chair. I would be able to pick up my letters on Friday afternoon once I arrived back on the train from school. The chauffeur that was to pick me up had a nasty habit of being late most of the time, so it was a regular thing, actually. I always told him I didn't mind, and with my approval, he took his sweet time.

The clock read three fifteen a.m., give or take a few minutes. My vision was a little blurry from the crying, of course. Though my eyelids were heavy, sleep wasn't coming easily. My thoughts swum in my mind like a frenzy of fish. I rolled over and stared at the door. It was an odd thing, but I contemplated the dark wood, read the grain from afar. This manor was old, at least a hundred years old. It was probably built by slaves. How many people had lived here? Within these four walls? How many people were born somewhere in this house, how many died? They were all family, or servants, or slaves. They either owned the place or were tied to it by law or petty wages. Where did I lie? Momma could own the manor, especially now she had grandfather's favor. Although, I doubted she'd want to. Bart had money to spend, he was a damned lawyer. He could probably have his own manor house built. Legally, I didn't really exist. I wasn't a servant though. My siblings weren't either, but they weren't free. We existed in a limbo.

The house creaked in it's habitual settling with a sigh. The wood was as weary as I. I rolled over again to stare out at the window. A whip-poor-will cried out it's song in the distance. I closed my eyes. If only I could leave, grow wings like that bird. It felt cliche to think that. Maybe it was, but that was how my mind decided to spin my seemingly hopeless situation.

I must have fallen asleep after that, as when I reopened my eyes, birds were chirping and bands of light streamed through the window. Turning to face the clock, it was almost eight in the morning, I'd barely slept five hours and my body felt it. My muscles were sore, my eyes felt like they'd been coated in sandpaper. However, it was a church morning. Even if Grandfather couldn't come, the rest of us; Grandmother, myself, and the servants, all went.

I didn't have a lot of time to spare, however, and made quick work of getting dressed and bathed before running down to breakfast just as the large clock in the main hall chimed eight thirty. Exactly on time, even if I was a little rushed. Sitting at my place at the breakfast table, Grandmother looked at me for a long moment, some emotion hidden behind her eyes I couldn't quite place. Did she know what I'd done? My blood chilled. If she found out, I was likely not the only person who'd get punished.

"Lucille." She began, pausing after my name. "Will you lead us in our morning prayer? It's been some time since you have."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. We all bowed our heads over our plates which would soon be laden with ham, biscuits, and grits.

"Dear Father in Heaven," I peeked just a little. Everyone was silent, even the kitchen had gone quiet. "We praise you for the nourishment You have provided this Sunday morning, an act which we do not often appreciate, and we ask You for forgiveness of that fact." I licked my lips. This could be a light, indirect jab. "Forgive us for not realizing the magnitude of Your people who go hungry every day, please relieve their starved stomachs and hearts, and forgive those that hurt them. In Jesus' name, Amen."