Oblivion

Chapter Nine

Three days passed since my time in the Judgement Room, which was also the basement of the house. Jacob had yet to return from wherever he was. The cuts on my arm were healing, now scabbed over and itching on occasion. I only had to dress them after a shower, as the hot water and soap would open them back up.

The days passed in a mundane routine of cooking and cleaning. Hannah had the housework down to a daily schedule. Once a week, or every Saturday as she said, though I had no idea how she possibly knew the day of the week with no calendar, we would be deep cleaning the house. The rest of the week was lighter spot cleaning. The kitchen after every meal, sweeping the rest of the house to keep too much dirt from getting tracked through by the boys, dusting, and cleaning up any mess Malcolm might have made throughout the day. Laundry on Fridays, though I was not allowed to help yet according to Elijah, who let Hannah in and out of the house to hang the clean clothes on the line in the backyard.

I was responsible for Malcolm while she worked on everyone's clothes and bedding on the other side of the locked back door. I wondered when I would get a chance to prove I wouldn't run again. I didn't want to run, just stand out in the fresh air for a few minutes. I was allowed to open the windows and let the breeze in, but it wasn't the same as standing in the grass with the sun on my skin. But I didn't complain for anyone to hear and took what I could get.

I woke as the sun began to light up the curtains in my room. I could hear Hannah humming as she set out clothes for Elijah and the boys, something she did every morning. I knew she would head downstairs after checking on Malcolm, who sometimes woke when she went downstairs, but some days he slept in until shortly before Elijah and Zak left for the day. That morning seemed to be one of those occasions as I heard Malcolm's door close and the stairs creak.

I climbed out of bed slowly to stay quiet. Hannah would appreciate my help with breakfast, so I dressed quickly and crept my way downstairs to surprise her. As my feet landed on the scarred wood floor I heard soft, muffled conversation in the kitchen. Hannah was talking to someone, but who would visit so early in the morning? I walked down the hall in silence, straining to make out what was being said, and by who.

"I warned you this might happen, but did you listen? Now look at you," Hannah said with sadness in her voice. "I told you to end it, to save you both when your father mentioned getting you a girl. Why didn't you listen?"

"I thought I had more time," replied a hoarse, gravelly voice I thought I recognized. "I thought it would take longer to find her."

"Knowing how your father sets his mind to something. That was dumb on your part, and now everything's a mess."

I leaned until I could see around the door frame into the kitchen, which was still dark. Hannah sat in her usual seat at the breakfast table, someone else sat in Elijah's seat. They were leaned on their elbows, using the table to keep themselves upright.

"What mess? You look rested and the house is spotless."

"The mess you have made won't be so obvious and visible, Jacob," Hannah scolded and I covered my mouth to silence my surprised gasp. The slumped figure at the table looked nothing like I remembered. This had to be a different Jacob.

"How bad has it been?"

"Not as bad as you might think, but she's hurt and I can't blame her. I would feel like someone ripped my heart out if Elijah had done something like that. I doubt she will ever trust your feelings for her again. You may have lost the battle before it began," Hannah told him. She was right, but I wouldn't admit to it if asked.

"What battle?" Jacob asked with genuine curiosity that appeared to frustrate Hannah as much as it did me.

"The battle for her heart. The battle for her trust. Two things you're going to need if you want a healthy home for your children and you threw it away before you ever had your ceremony. All of this, for Grace? Honestly Jacob, what could be so fascinating about Grace Wilson?"

"She's pretty."

Hannah scoffed, "Megan is far more beautiful, and you know it. I saw your face when she would smile at you."

"Smart," Jacob tossed and Hannah shook her head.

"Megan is smarter. She's sweet, beautiful, definitely found you attractive until recently, and she has been trying everything in her power to behave and fit into the family. Would Grace be so willing? Does she understand the family traditions? What about our rules?"