Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2017 22:05:16 GMT -6
No More
"God provides, god provides, god provides..." Sara repeated the nun's words, mouth frowning around them. "God don't provide much of anything, I guess."
She jostled the basket the old woman had given her, filled only with a few apples, a block of moldy cheese, and a loaf of hard, old bread. Hopefully, the others had more to show for their day's labor than she did; while she knew times were tough in Gatsberry, it was disheartening to have nothing more. Everyone but the Sister had turned her away, some more politely than others. They couldn't worry about helping others clothe and feed themselves when they had to worry about doing it for their own.
Sara could see the stoop of the orphanage up ahead. The others were outside. That meant Miss Turner and Old Man Hubert were inside, no doubt do whatever it was they did to relieve boredom. Thomas said they were usually 'fornicating' and consuming spirits. She didn't quite understand what the former was, or how one could eat a ghost, but she shrugged it off.
"Sawa!" Little Daisy called, jumping up from the stoop. She started to stand, but wavered and was gently made to sit back down by Eggsy. Despite the older kids giving the younger ones more portions, they often still felt lightheaded and weak-legged. Sara couldn't remember a time when they had the strength to do more than sit upright in bed.
"Thomas done got a bona fide slab of turkey! They just throwing this good meat out!" Eggsy said as Sara approached, "Wasteful, just wasteful. Rich folks oughta be ashamed of that."
Said meat was being cooked over a small fire Thomas hunched beside. Poor Thomas had never been a particularly healthy boy; with a poor diet, his face was sunken, his bones jutting out everywhere, his raggedy clothes hanging sadly from his slim frame. No matter how much they gave him of their meals, he just couldn't keep any meat on his bones.
"Mais, ain't no one said money give you a mind." Eggsy said, scratching his head. The fleas liked him best, but he never complained. "Oh, and I done picked a bunch of dandelions and chickweed, and I got some stinging nettle for tea."
"Sister Gertie gave me apples, cheese, and bread." Sara told them, handing over her basket to Eggsy for perusal. She picked Little Daisy up, which wasn't hard given how underweight the toddler was. Daisy laid her head against Sara's shoulder, going limp almost immediately. She must've missed a nap.
"Well, this is real good!" Eggsy grinned, taking out the cheese. He reached into his pants pocket and brought out his knife, and began to remove the moldy parts from the cheese. "Gaston say he might be gone to Big Ma's for some work. Say he big enough to handle them machines."
Sara frowned; they knew a lot of young boys had been injured on the job at Big Ma June's textile factory, horribly mangled and left out on the street to either die, or be collected by friend or relatives. She and the others were in dire straits all the time--it was simply their state of being--but risking life and limb to work there was ridiculous. Sara shook her head, fed up.
"He shouldn't have to do that. He shouldn't have to go there." She said, feeling her temper rise.
"Set down, Sara. Ain't no good for you to start ranting with the wardens around." Eggsy cautioned.
On cue, one of the upper windows opened with a bang and Miss Turner's head and torso popped out, her face already red with anger, drink, and exertion, and breasts swaying wildly. "You fuckin' brats better quit that cooking! Smells worse than shit!" she screeched. She threw an ashtray at them, narrowly missing Sara and Little Daisy. Daisy gasped as the ashes covered them, but didn't have the strength of lungs to scream. Miss Turner returned inside, snapping the window shut and drawing the curtains.
Sara dusted herself and Daisy off as best she could, trying not to cough or sneeze. "That bi--...heartless wretch." she said. It was a rule not to swear around the babies.
Eggsy, smile gone, nodded quietly and went back to cutting the moldy cheese.
Gaston returned an hour later, while Thomas and Sara were serving the kids. Under his arm was a basket, with a loaf of bread sticking up from underneath a red and white checkered cloth. His hat was tipped forward, with some of his face obscured.
"Got some gifts from Big Earl." he said, setting the basket down beside the remnants of the fire. "Got us some bread, some carrots, some potatoes, couple ears of corn..."
Sara jumped up from the stoop and yanked back the cloth, and, sure enough, there were the items. Beautiful, fresh, not one bit of dirt left on them. She looked up at Gaston, mouth agape. "Big Earl gave you these? What for? What you done for him?"
She could see Gaston grin under the rim of his hat. "Done won a few fights in his ring." He finally looked up at her, and Sara could see the cuts and bruises on his face, most assuredly not from Miss Turner or Hubert; those were worse than the ones he bared to Sara.
"You were fighting?" Sara said, voice tight. It wasn't bad like Big Ma June's factory, but anything could still happen in a fight at Big Earl's fighting arena. Some never were right again after a blow to the head, broken bones, sudden blindness; some just up and died.
"Yeah, but I won. I even got a cash prize!" Gaston beamed, reaching into his pockets. He pulled out wads of money, shoving them in Sara's face. "We can get even more food tomorrow! I can keep doing this, I figure, and we won't have to worry--"
Sara slapped him. The others flinched, but stayed silent. The look on Gaston's face nearly made her waver, but she wouldn't let this go.
"'Won't have to worry?' Gaston, I know what can happen there." Sara said, stomping her foot. "We can't afford to lose you, you know that! I don't want to bury no more children than we already done buried!"
Sickness, starvation, the ones that didn't survive the wardens... In her time, she'd already dug with her bare hands in the yard behind the orphanage, at night, to bury Susie, Joseph, Rufus, Emile, Toulouse, Richard, Patricia, and on, and on, and on, until she feared she'd never get the stink of burial earth out of her nose.
Gaston's face reddened. Whether from shame or anger, she didn't know. "Sara, we're already dying." he whispered, so the others couldn't hear. "We need something to keep us kicking."
"I know that!" Sara hissed. "I know!"
They stood silently, only the echoes of the city around them between them.
Eggsy eventually cleared his throat and asked, "Y'all want these taters mashed or what?"
Sara sat on the windowsill that night, an old book of constellations left open on her lap. Thomas had helped her sound out the different names of what they could see from Gatsberry, and when they were visible. Something about the stars comforted her when little else could; no matter how many years passed, how many people died, they never did. She supposed she wanted to be like a star, always shining, even if it went unnoticed by so many people.
She shifted on her perch to get feeling back into her behind, and rubbed her neck. She had been waiting for the others to fall asleep, and by the sound of their breathing, they were. She closed the book and quietly set it down below the window, and picked up a patched bag from beside it, slinging across her shoulder. They were only on the first floor, next to the kitchen, so leaving through the window meant she just had to hop over the windowsill. She swung her legs over and turned to close the window behind her, but instead found Gaston staring down at her.
"Where we going?" he asked, giving her pointed look.
"Somewhere."
"I know that. But where in particular?"
Sara pressed her lips together. She hadn't wanted anyone to know, to get them involved. What she planned still carried its own risks, but if she was quick and quiet, she'd be fine.
"Sweetpea, you been talking you don't want me taking no risks, and here you are, sneaking around and going places I ain't aware of." Gaston said, "Hipposcrit."
"Hypocrite."
"Whatever."
Sara sighed. As much as she wanted her family safe, she needed some muscle. The windows at the grocery were heavy things, and they had been presenting a problem...
"Fine. We going to grab some food from Mr. Peterson's store." she explained, turning around to head out. She heard Gaston clambering out of the window, shutting it afterwards.
"Stealing? Least my fighting ring was legimatit." Gaston whispered, easily catching up to her on his longer legs.
"Legitimate."
"Anyway, how is this any safer?" he asked.
"'Cause if we're quiet, we won't be caught, and we make out with a good haul of good food."
"This just don't sit right..." Gaston shook his head.
But still he went with her, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Very few were still out at that time of night, and those that were, were usually drunks too lit to know up from down, so chances of them identifying the two were low. Even so, they stayed to the shadows and took alleyways as much as they could on their way to Mr. Peterson's grocery.
The store itself was several blocks from the orphanage, and secured with only a couple of locks on the front and back doors, but the locks wouldn't concern them. Sara had snatched the back door key hours before from Peterson, and had it in her skirt pocket. She retrieved it and opened the back door, slowly so to keep quiet, and tiptoed in with Gaston. She'd already told him to not take too much so Peterson wouldn't realize he'd been robbed until inventory on Saturday. They took canned foods, like shrimp and peas, and Gaston grabbed flour and corn meal bags, and some medicine for Thomas. It was a less exciting robbery than Sara imagined; she supposed that getting the key from poor, forgetful Peterson was more of an adventure than this. When they were satisfied with their work, they locked the back door and hurried back home.
Everyone was still asleep when they crawled back through the window. Not one stirred as Sara and Gaston crept past their beds on their way over to the wardrobe. They had all been given this one wardrobe to share among themselves, and neither Miss Turner or Hubert ever looked inside. They never checked in on the children in their room unless they were making noise or smells they found disagreeable. They placed the food inside, each already thinking of what to make for breakfast and dinner. They couldn't wait to find out what it was like to have a full belly on the regular, to see the others smile at the meals they'd prepare everyday. As they retired to bed, Gaston quietly acknowledged that maybe they would do well to keep it up, that maybe the children would grow strong and healthy.
They woke up to find Little Daisy cold as stone. Eggsy had gone to wake her up for a bath, and became hysterical when he realized she was dead. The noise brought the wardens down on them. Miss Turner wrinkled her nose and boxed Eggsy's ears to make him stop crying, while Hubert wrapped Daisy in a bedsheet to carry her out in. Thomas sat on his bed, quietly crying, while Gaston and Sara tried to place themselves between Eggsy and Miss Turner.
"Stop that racket, you red-haired bastard!" Turner screamed, grabbing the front of his shirt. "It ain't like you ain't seen one dead before!"
Sara almost had Eggsy away from Turner when Gaston punched Turner right on the nose. The older woman tumbled to the floor, skirts flying up over head. She scrambled to push them back down and stared, stunned silent, up at Gaston, who had a fist raised by his head. Even Eggsy had quieted, and gaped at the older boy, who wore an unfamiliar look of pure, borderline homicidal rage.
"No. More." he told her through gritted teeth.
It was then that Hubert came back in, Daisy already dumped in the backyard for the kids to bury. He stopped short in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight of Turner on the floor with Gaston, chest heaving and nostrils flaring, still ready to pounce above her. Hubert looked from one to the other, then, with an audible gulp, turned back around and left Turner to deal with things on her own.
"You hit me." Turner spoke eventually, her voice remarkably quiet and calm.
"And...and I'll do it again if you ever try to hurt us again!" he said.
With that, Turner scrambled off the floor and out of the room, back to her own upstairs where, presumably, Hubert also hid.
Sara burst out laughing. Gaston and the other two boys looked at her, confused, and she could find know answer why she kept laughing and laughing, until her sides hurt and her lungs burned. She couldn't reconcile the image of Turner on her back, skirts up above her head, with the screaming harpy who'd seemed an untouchable tormentor her whole life.
Sara began to understand something important then. Sara began to understand they could wrestle control away from others. They didn't have to just scrape by; they could survive, they could fight. They could win. Today, they'd bury Daisy, but tomorrow, they would live.