Chapter 32-1
A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing.
Part 2
Arthur didn't like me as he took his place on the floor of the kitchen. He wore jeans that had seen better days and carried an air of humility with him. I could see straw sticking out of his hair and dirt covered him. It seemed as if he had been chained like a wild animal, struggling to free himself, which caused his left ankle to turn red. Quietly sitting there, he seemed either awaiting orders or too defeated. With his head bowed and his knees pressed against him, he didn't move, just sat there.
I prayed I would be long gone before I looked as beaten as he did and couldn't; understand what he was waiting for. Or perhaps too scared to even try it or he had tried, and this resulted from the attempt. If it was, I needed to be careful and plan my escape right down to the last details without getting caught. Mrs. Rothwell paid him no mind the way he looked, nor did she say why he was this way. His eyes bore into me, filled with an inexplicable hatred, although we had never exchanged a single word.
Mrs. Rothwell counted twenty-five potatoes, setting them inside a bucket and hand him a peeler and old pie tin for the skins. Her words were bitter but calm. Using his name as she told him to peel the potatoes and put the clean ones back into the bucket. Showing him how and watched him repeat the process as if he was doing it for the first time. I had soon learned that he was mentally retarded or artistic and sometimes had a mind of a five-year-old. Yet he was smart when came to sports questions like stats and complicated math equations. Since he was eight years old, he had been a part of their family, making him one of their longest-standing foster children.
For a brief moment, I saw my life through his eyes to what my life could have been. I shudder to think that this could have been me sitting on the floor cowering like a whipped dog begging for scraps of food and attention. Somehow, my life didn't seem so bad and began to wonder if perhaps God had listened to my prayers. It did give me something to think about and something else I needed to discuss with Jeff. Who I could still feel, but not see. I tried to link my thoughts with his like I had done so many times before, but he never responded, leaving me alone with my own thoughts. I missed the warmth of his company, but it bothered me why he was so silent.
As I stood there, momentarily lost in my thoughts, Mrs. Rothwell gently tapped me on the shoulder, her touch sending a shiver down my spine. I turned to face her, feeling a mix of surprise and relief flood over me, asking me, "Eric a penny for your thoughts?"
I blurted without thinking, "I thought I had seen a ghost," had seen a ghost of my future self, but I quickly dismissed the thought, chalking it up to a trick of my mind.
Mrs. Rothwell, with a kind smile, gently suggested placing a hand on my shoulder. "When things are more settled," she said with a warm and soothing voice, "you can share anything on your mind with me, if you like." As I nodded in agreement, a wave of gratitude washed over me, appreciating her understanding. Yet I also knew that would not happen anytime soon; she would not be someone I could confide in, let alone trust, at least not for now.
Her next question caught me off guard. She asked if I knew how to handle a knife without cutting myself. Memories of my previous homes flashed through my mind, but I quickly corrected myself, mentioning my last three foster homes instead. Mrs. Rothwell hesitated for a moment, her eyes filled with understanding, before requesting a demonstration.
Taking two of Arthur's potatoes in my hand, she placed a variety of vegetables on the cutting board - peeled carrots, celery, and two onions. She instructed me on the specific cuts she wanted, and I carefully followed her guidance.
Once I finished the task, I diligently washed the cutting board, hoping to impress Mrs. Rothwell with my cleanliness. As I glanced at Arthur, I noticed a scowl on his face. Mrs. Rothwell quickly dismissed it, telling me he was just jealous because I was smarter than him.
Curiosity sparked in her. She expressed her desire to see what else I was capable of. I recounted the moments when my brothers Will and Robert and I surprised our Ma with breakfast and dinner on her birthday while Pa took her out on the town. Even though she felt the Downings were heathens because they were not LDS. She could see a certain spark when I talked about them. She told me I seemed to glow whenever I mentioned any of them. Hoping I would do the same when I talk about them. I said nothing, because deep down I doubted it. Five days was enough to hate being here, but I didn't dare say that. I just asked what else she would like me to do.
The glow was gone, and she knew she had spooked me, but said nothing. Instead, she just handed me more vegetables to chop and hummed a church hymn as she set to her work. It wasn't long before everyone watched me cut up enough vegetables to feed two families. As everyone watched, they forgot about Arthur sitting on the floor. Mrs. Rothwell had to send everyone out of the kitchen from getting in our way.
Her husband didn't seem all that pleased, asking. "Why these people you had lived with before thought it was important to teach their boys how to cook in the first place?"
I said, "because we worked on a farm everyone pitches in to make it work."
He snorted. "Women's work, men have no reason to be in a kitchen."
His wife stood there scowling at him, asking. "Why not?" Placing her hands on her hips. Waiting for him to answer.
Instead, he looked over at Arthur and said. "Shane, take Arthur and get him cleaned up. It seems he is no longer needed in the kitchen; we have a new girl to replace him."
Mrs. Rothwell didn't argue, picking up the bucket and the peelings and placing them both into the sink, says. "Waste not, want not." Began washing the peelings and putting them with the rest of the clean scraps. Pulling out a machine and made juice out of them. It made me want to gag as she added it to the pitcher that we had drunk for breakfast and stirred it in. I knew now why it tasted so bad.
She saw me cringed saying, "Why waste perfectly good vitamins, working on a farm? You should know that better than anyone." I didn't argue with her as I kept to my work, washing down the counter and prepared to make dinner rolls.
Her recipe was a little different from Ma's using the fresh ground wheat flour instead of bleached white flour. Stating the white flour is bad for the body. I mentioned she was a Health food Nut. Well, scratch that. She was an extreme health food nut, going way too far. After everything was in the oven cooking and the kitchen was clean. I had to clean off the flour and the grime that got on to my clothes. She noticed said. "Next time I will see if I can find you an apron to wear. If I can find one that isn't too girlish. It seems I have stumbled upon a new little helper." Then, she told me to go to my room, where I would spend the time until dinner working on my oral report or engrossed in the pages of my scriptures.
When she was satisfied, she returned to the kitchen. I left the door opened began to put the finishing touches on my report, and opened my scriptures, adding scripture references that I felt would give me the edge in giving my report. I needed to show them I wasn't stupid and was just as smart as any other kid, not a mule boy.
While writing it, I read it over several times, adding something now and then. Jeff seemed to have made himself known, and I refused to pay him any attention. I was mad at him for being gone all day. Finally, I looked up, and he smiled like he was the one that had all the cream when I had none. I didn't dare speak out loud to him, not with the door wide open. But I didn't want to close it either. So we linked. I stated angrily, "Where have you been? I needed you, and you said you would never leave me when I needed you. "
He waited for me to get it all out of my system before he answered. Stating he was taking care of some business and telling me I wasn't in any danger, or he would have been here quick as a wink, but had been keeping tabs on me throughout the day. I couldn't argue with that. Considering he was mostly right, as I watched him take a seat on the bed fingering the humility vest. Then shocked me, said "I know what happened to the other boy." He paused as he watched me turn and smile knowing he had me. I was indeed curious. I had found out the boy had run away and hadn't been found; that's why the State doesn't know about it yet. Right now he was safe where no-one would look for him; and if it got out that they had lost one of their own. It could mean big trouble for the Rothwells.
I asked him if it was his doing about what happened in the Bishop's office. He smiled, saying he had a little help from a friend that needed a favor. It was one reason he'd been gone. He wouldn't say what the favor was or who was this friend? But I told him he nearly got me in deep trouble, and he smiled with that silly grin. He then told me he had something special planned for tonight, providing I kept my nose clean. He wouldn't say what, so I asked if we were still working on our plan to get the hell out of here.
Advising caution, he nodded and said to tread carefully. Suggested that if I could avoid getting in a hurry too quickly and learned to play nice with the enemy. I hated it when he did that. Jeff had a habit of withholding essential knowledge from me, but I made the conscious decision to not argue, fully aware of his predictable reaction. The excuses always revolved around freewill.
It was great though, having an extra set of eyes, even though they were dead ones. But I had gotten over that a long time ago. It used to give me nightmares when he first came to me. Now they don't seem so dead anymore. Even though he seems to never ages, he still had his boyish look and blond hair that never seemed to grow. He wasn't perfect by any means, but he does have his uses.
I remember one time as he was teasing one of my friends after a bad day and was trying to make me laugh. He would move my friend's books from one the end of the table to the other whenever they turned their back or tie their shoelaces together. Once, I asked him how he did it while his body remained buried and waiting on the; "The Big Resurrection," that everyone talks about. He said not everything dies when you're dead, his mind still works, his arms, legs, fingers and toes. All still function, and still can feel pain just as it was in real life.
Over the years, he has gotten better. He says when it comes to interacting with life between here and the spirit world; even our linking has grown by leaps and bounds over the years. Working on just a small piece of it, like reusing a muscle, can reveal the surprising capabilities of the human mind. According to Jeff, that when a person dies and their spirit leaves their body. It also frees their mind, but it takes time to develop that muscle, like learning a new skill. Nothing is just given to you; you are like in some ways learning how to walk again. Living and dying are just different degrees of actual living. I can't explain it any further than this because I haven't died yet to fully understand. But to say laws limit you less or unbound is wrong. Laws govern everything.
In fact, my first oral report is on the spirit world. I know what you are thinking. Just let Jeff give the report, considering he knows more about it than I will ever know. But there again, we humans that still live in this rat race must learn how to walk before we can run. Not saying I didn't have a little help from time to time, as Jeff looked over my report. Giving me places to look in the scriptures comes in handy. Did I mention he'd won a lot doing scripture chases?
Jody informed me that dinner was ready, and that she had the responsibility to ensure I washed up and combed my hair, the basics. I had to admit my hair looked like a mess and my shirt needed to be re-tucked in, but I was good to go. Folding my paper into my scriptures and setting them on the dresser. She didn't do it for me as she stood by and watched me do it, smiling and said. "There is nothing wrong with a guy working in the kitchen. In fact, when I get married, my husband better knows a thing or two or I won't marry him."
I took my place at the table noticing the fine China, not as fine as the set we had given Ma. Every time I thought of her it made me miss her more, and I could feel myself choke up, hoping a tear didn't rat me out. For the moment, I blended into the background and surprisingly; I found solace in that.
However, I couldn't help but notice that everyone had their place setting, except for Arthur, the two younger boys, and myself. Instead of the plates like the others, they gave us adorable kid plates featuring Mickey Mouse and his friends, accompanied by cups that perfectly matched. I tried to brush it off, reminding myself that a plate is just a plate, and moved on. Apparently, they saw me as a small child, but I didn't let it show. I waited in silence as everyone took their spots. Arthur's shirt was nice and clean, and his hair was still wet. His skin was still lightly pink from his bath and I could easily tell that Shane hadn't been kind to him and came apparent that everyone treated him like he was stupid.
Pa had taught me that everyone had the right to be treated as a human being. No matter their age, color, race or how slow they are. Everyone was still one of God's creatures and should be respected and loved no matter who they are. But somehow, I always disagreed when it came to people abusing children. That included my parents and the Rothwells. To me, that was something I could never forgive or forget, but I had a strong feeling that my views mattered little while I was living here.
Once again, Dad said the prayer, taking my hand, and for once didn't squeeze it like it was in a vice. Through my eyelids, I could see Arthur wasn't that lucky, as his face winced with pain. I had learned to let everyone serve themselves first and waited for Dad to fill my plate. The portions surprised me; they seemed like a small feast compared to the nights before.
On the other hand, Dad gave Arthur less, stating that he hadn't earned his keep today and that he had found out he had disobeyed in church during Sunday school. That he would get no dessert and would spend the rest of the day until family devotion in his room to think about his consequences. I didn't know what he had done that was so wrong, but I couldn't help but notice a smile on Shane's and Shawn's face. Something told me they had it in for him or they were making an example out of him if I didn't do what they said. It always makes me mad when someone treats a person like they are nothing but a joke and gets away with it and set them up to take the blame.
Once again, Dad made a comment about the food saying. "The womenfolk had outdone themselves preparing such a fine meal." Looking over at me as he said it; thinking it would goad me to anger, but it didn't get what he wished, so he tried a different approach and said. "What I understand family that we have a miracle of wonders among us. Earick here can see dead people. In fact, it is the very person he murdered in cold blood.
"Now he may not have pulled the trigger himself according to his file and what he has told me. But the facts speak for themselves. The boy died, and he stood there and watched every second of it and didn't lift a single finger to help. To me, he is just as guilty, but God Almighty according to the Bishop today says he's not. Yet the boy's ghost haunts him still." Then chuckles; "maybe this dead friend feels it was his fault and cursed him until his dying day. So if you see any bed sheets floating, say hi to his pal Jeff."
Mrs. Rothwell stood and said. "That's quite enough. Eric has done what we had asked, repented of all his sins, and had been found clean, unless you are saying that the Bishop is a heretic and not one of the Gods chosen and not worthy of Christ's Atonement. Then I suggest you get on your knees and find your answer before God himself strikes you down." Dad was speechless as he cowered before her. I thought that Jeff was right, that there was some good in her. No one spoke as they silently ate. Apparently, she had won this round.
I was full for the first time in a long time and I could barely finish. It didn't help that Mr. Rothwell was still angry and added more to my plate. Telling me I better eat every crumb or suffer his wrath. Dad meant every word as he waited for my answer.
I said. "Yes sir, I had planned to." I should have called him Dad instead of sir, nearly striking me, then thought better of it as Mom glared at him from across the table. I was beginning too like Sundays compared to the rest of the week. It seemed I was almost a person instead of a mule boy only smart enough to work. Just thinking about it gives me the shutters. Trust me, it will give you nightmares when I tell that dark secret what happens in the basement.
While Arthur and I were clearing the table, he got caught licking a plate with his tongue and stealing three rolls, stuffing two under his shirt and one in his mouth. I had time enough to turn around, hearing the plate crash to the floor and break. Dad had smacked him across the face so hard that his nose bled, and his glasses and the roll flew across the room. He was so angry that he yelled at Shane to grab the whip down the hall. I curled up into a ball in the corner as the whip struck him over and over. His yells of pain echoed the house as they stuck one after the other in the rhythm. I could hear Jared and Jason crying nearby as the whip kept the same rhythm, strike after strike.
I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe as I watched with horror as the whip came down, missing me by mere inches then finally made its mark. Again and again, it struck hard and fast back and forth as it hit across my back, my voice added to the terror. I heard Mr. Rothwell yelled. "Mule Boy, get out!" I didn't know if he was talking to me until the whip came down again, across my back over and over. I screamed as I tried to get smaller, hugging the corner tighter.
A hand gripped me as it dragged me out of the room. Mr. Rothwell yelled again. "Mule boy! Get out! Don't disobey me again!" The whip came down on my back once more not stopping following me as I fled to my room; hearing the door slam behind me. Tears were streaming down my face and I could feel the warm blood trickle down my back felt wet and numb against my skin.
Alone, I huddled tight in the far corner on the floor, waiting for more. I was more than terrified as I waited for my tormentor to punish me more; I did not know what I had done wrong. One minute I was doing what I was told and then the next being beaten. It was nearly an hour before I dared come out of the corner and Jeff was nowhere to be seen, but I could feel him nearby telling me to stay put. So, I did, hugging my knees closer to me staying in the corner of my room shivering as the pain radiated as the numbness wore off.
When the door opened, the tears were still falling. I kept my head bowed, letting the tears fall on my bare feet. I could smell the hated rage as if something cold and evil had entered the room. Its icy hand covered in blood as it lifted my face to face the icy terror in his eyes. The monster's face kept shifting in my mind from my father to Mr. Rothwell and back again. He didn't say a word. Letting my head fall, closing the door and turned off the lights, leaving me in the dark. It was two hours more than I stayed in the corner before the door opened again. I didn't look up. I didn't dare as the terror washed over me once more than I shook, waiting for the whip to strike, begging, pleading no more.