Bab 9: Sara - New Man
Sara sat at the table and glared. Her sister sat beside her and quietly ate her own meal. Even she was able to pick up on the strained atmosphere around the table.
Grandfather sat at one end of the table. He had his own glare directed at the food on his plate. A lump of mashed potatoes with gravy and a chopped up piece of pork nestled inside green beans defiantly sat before him. With a gnarled hand, he picked up a fork and stabbed the potatoes as though they held a hidden enemy. Without a glance up at anyone else, he shoved a lump of potatoes into his mouth with a shaky hand. Gravy dripped down on the napkin tucked into his shirt.
Their mother sat at the other end of the table next to Sara. She filled her plate as though nothing was out of the ordinary, as though there wasn’t a strange man now part of their odd little family. The strange man had been introduced to us a few hours earlier as Tom Lattimer, their new step-father.
Tall and lanky, the man had dark brown hair that needed to be combed and washed if the shine from the grease was any indication. His eyes were glassed over as he tackled his plate as though he hadn’t eaten in a week or more. He didn’t even wipe his mouth as he shoved in another fork full.
Sara’s nose wrinkled at the powerful smell rolling off of him. She had never smelled anything so rank. Sara wanted to gag. It was surprising that the others didn’t feel that way. They ate their food as though there was nothing unusual at all, nothing different.
Her mother had remarried. No one had ever seen the man before she had brought him home and presented him as family. They didn’t know she was even seeing another man. He was nothing like their father had been.
This man was quiet. His face was worn and made him look older than he probably was. His hands were thin and calloused. His clothes had seen better days including washing. Yes, their clothes were not very nice, but they were clean.
Seeing Sara’s empty plate, her mother gave her a hard look. With abrupt movements, she grabbed bowls and began to spoon the food onto Sara’s plate. It landed with a disgusting plop. Everyone continued on, eating in silence.
Their meals were always held in silence. Grandfather hated the endless jabbering of the young and didn’t care about anything Cynthia had to talk about. We were at the table to eat, nothing more.
The meal was over only when Grandfather was done. Without a word, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and made his way to the washroom, passing gas as he walked. She was disgusted by his lack of apology for his behavior. Yes, he was old, but he always complained how others need to be polite. He needed to practice what he preached.
Cynthia allowed Lilly to leave the table with the orders that she was to put her plate in the sink. Sara would be the one to clean them later, as usual.
“Sara, eat your dinner.” Cynthia’s voice was harsh. The ever present edge to it seemed to sharpen over the years.
Sara’s eyes moved over to her and met the hard stare. If there was a woman who could match Sara in stubbornness, it was her. Then again, she was the one who had taught Sara.
At that moment, Sara’s stomach betrayed her. Cynthia gave her oldest a knowing smile. She had won and knew it. Sara conceded and put a green bean in her mouth. Her eyes never left her mother’s, but Sara gave her stomach what it wanted.
Across the table, Tom leaned back and patted his stomach. A burp sealed Sara’s opinion of him. He just smiled and patted his middle again.
“Good food there, Cynthia. You weren’t jestin’ when you said you could cook.” He pushed up and stretched. “I’ll go sit on the porch for a bit. Such a nice place.”
Sara paused in eating and watched as he lumbered out if the dining room. Once he was gone, Sara felt the hard eyes of Cynthia on her. Cynthia didn’t say anything, just stared. Sara refused to look at her. Focusing on the food again, Sara talked herself into eating one bite and then another until the plate was clean. She had eaten too much, and her stomach hurt. But Sara refused to let her mother know that. Sara had been a good girl and cleaned her plate.
Still not saying a word, Sara stood up and began to clear the table and wash the dishes. This had been her chore now for the last four years. When Sara had turned ten, she went from helping with the dishes to the sole dishwasher and meal cleaner. Her sister, at the age of twelve now, only had to put her dishes in the sink for Sara to clean. She then proceeded to play with her dolls.
Cynthia disappeared into her room to work on darning her children’s clothes and preparing for the next day’s laundry day. It appeared she had the night off from the hotel’s cleaning and scrubbing. Guess that was okay as it was her wedding night.
Wedding! Her mother had married again. Some stranger was to take the place of their father. No way! Sara refused to see him in that light. Who knew who he was? Maybe he would murder them all in their sleep. Maybe he would steal all their grandfather’s silver. Maybe...Who knew anything about him at all? Not her.
Once the dishes were done, Sara straightened the dish towel and then wiped the table down. Everything was neat and tidy as it should be when she knocked on Mom’s door. A gruff command to enter was heard through the thick door.
She found her mother sitting on a stool by the window where the afternoon’s light streamed in. She had a shirt in her hand that belonged to their grandfather and was focused on a button that had come undone.
“What do you need?”
Sara’s lips tightened until the blood flow was nonexistent. Why couldn’t she just be civil to her daughter? Why couldn’t she say something in a motherly tone to her oldest child? It’s like she hated them, specifically Sara.
“Who is he?” Sara didn’t even try to say his name. He was a non-named entity to me.
Cynthia snorted. “Didn’t you listen? I told ya that he is your new father.”
“Step-father,” Sara corrected her.
She laid the shirt down and leveled her gaze on Sara. Her steely blue eyes were like ice daggers. Sara drew in a deep breath but made sure her mother couldn’t see her do it.
“Don’t sass me. You will respect him. He will be the only one to take care of us when your Grandpa passes on.”
“Who is he?” Sara pushed.
Cynthia took her own deep breath and answered, “His name is Tom Lattimer. He works down at the mill. He is a widow with a grown son who has moved over to Franklin to work for his father-in-law.” She returned to her darning.
Well, Sara got a little more information on the man. Yet she didn’t feel comforted.
“Why did you marry him?”
Sara had pushed it too far.
Cynthia threw the shirt down onto the floor and stood up. Her eyes flared with anger. “How many times do I have to tell you?” She didn’t even try to hold her voice down. “He is our security. He will keep us from the streets and eating out of the garbage cans. I cannot support two kids by myself. For fourteen years, I have raised you by myself and fed and clothed you. I cannot continue without the support your father and grandfather had given me. So unless you want to drop out of school and work, keep your mouth shut and help me around here. It’s the least you can do.”
She was breathless as she slumped back onto her stool as though her breath had been taken from her. Cynthia looked like she had aged twenty years just from her tirade at Sara. Her shoulders hunched over. Her lips turned down. Her eyes looked at the floor, seeing nothing.
Sara figured she had done enough damage and slunk out the door. She itched to get to her spot up in the tree, but to get there she had to pass by Tom. Sara had no desire to be anywhere near him. There was her room that she shared with her sister, but she would annoy Sara. The young girl wanted to be alone. That meant taking drastic measures.
Moving quietly through the dining room and up the stairs, she was thankful that despite her age she was small and quick. Sara made it to the door of the attic without making a sound. Just as slow and deliberate, she pulled over the door just enough for her to slide in and closed it with a barely perceptible click. Sara released the breath she held as she waited on someone to call out and catch her. Not one sound could be heard in the dark stairwell.
Turning slowly around, she made my way up the narrow steps with familiarity. This had become her hideaway when the weather turned against her. Cynthia had caught her at the door of the attic the first time Sara tried to explore it and had lectured her daughter on staying away from it. Sara pretended to obey her for several weeks before successfully gaining access. There she discovered a great place to just be herself.
There was a lot of junk in the attic under the peaked roof. Boxes and trunks filled the space along with old books. Sara wasn’t interested in any of them. She just wanted to be alone in her own world. A space was easily made by a far window that overlooked the street. It was far enough away that no one could see her if they entered the attic space.
It was cozy. Boxes surrounded her private area, and the entrance was a small crawl space between two of the larger boxes. The entrance was angled where it could not be seen until one was right up on it which by then they would have seen over the boxes and found her.
Sara slumped down. Didn’t even try to smooth out her skirt. Who cared if she was ladylike up here? Sara didn’t, well not much.
Here she was fourteen with a new father. What would that really mean for her sister and her? So far he did not give the indication of being a father figure to them . He walked in and just gave them a cursory glance before sitting down to eat. Hope he made enough money to pay for his food.
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