At 11:55 I once again heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. The lock clicked, and the door lurched open. This time it was Mr. Anderson. I shivered involuntarily. His eyes slowly meandered up and down my body, lingering on my chest for a moment per usual before flashing to my face. Caleb Anderson was a thin, balding man. He and Mrs. Anderson made quite the pair as she was at least twice his size. He had rust colored hair that he combed back in an attempt to hide the ever widening bald patch that was taking over his head. His eyes were a watery blue and he was prone to keeping a small patch of hair right under his bottom lip, along with a thin mustache. He was dressed up today, evidently wanting to impress the Reverend. His neatly pressed shirt was already showing wet patches under his arms however, and I knew once he got closer I would smell the cloying scent of his drugstore cologne mixed with the oniony scent of his sweat. It never ceased to make me gag.
“Get over here girl,” he ordered with a foul grin.
Neither he nor Mrs. Anderson took very good care of their teeth, and the stained crookedness of their smiles inspired me to brush my teeth multiple times a day for fear my teeth ended up like theirs. I slowly stepped forward through the door. As I walked past, he caressed my rear and I hurried to get down the stairs. Before I could make it he caught me by my waist and leaned into my ear.
“Are you trying to punish me by pretending you don’t want me,” he whispered cruelly.
I couldn’t help the tremors that started down my body. Nothing made me feel dirtier than having to put up with Mr. Anderson.
I wrenched my body away from his without answering, and ran down the stairs. Mrs. Anderson gave me an inquiring glance as I stepped into the kitchen but quickly looked away when she saw me shaking. She knew what her husband did to me, but never said a word. I knew it affected her though because the days I had to interact with Mr. Anderson were always followed by harsher beatings from her.
“Come over here and help me set the table,” she ordered.
I quickly went to the cabinet and began to pull out dishes.
“Not those,” she snapped angrily, “the ones in the china cabinet.”
My, my, this was a fancy occasion. As far as I knew Mrs. Anderson never pulled out the china except when her children visited for Christmas. All of the Anderson’s kids had been out of the house when the Andersons had agreed to foster me, and Mrs. Anderson made sure I had very limited interaction with them anytime they were visiting.
As I finished setting the table, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Anderson stopped fiddling with a pot on the stove and ran her hands down the front of her ill fitting, brown and cream, striped dress. She gave me a warning glance as she walked into the next room to answer the door. I heard Mr. Anderson greeting someone, and a deep baritone voice answering. As they exchanged greetings by the door I glanced around the kitchen. There was a stack of mail that had been thrown into the trashcan. I softly walked over to the trashcan to see if Mrs. Anderson had thrown away any magazines that I could steal.
As I pushed the first piece of junk mail to the side, my name flashed before me on the letter underneath. My name was on a thick, white envelope that I could tell hadn’t been opened. Looking hurriedly around to make sure that the Andersons weren’t nearby yet, I pulled the envelope out of the pile to take a closer look. It was from Rothmore College. What could they be sending me things for? I hadn’t had much experience in the world, but even I knew from listening to a college recruiter that had done a lecture through my home-school program that Rothmore College was one of the most elite, if not the most elite, colleges in the country.
One of my teachers had encouraged me to try and apply but I had brushed her assertions aside by explaining I had no plans to go to college beyond the online classes I was taking. Of course I wanted to go to school, but I hadn’t been able to think of a single way to escape from the Anderson’s home. I also knew that there was no way that they would ever agree to pay for schooling not paid for by the state, especially not a school as expensive as Rothmore. When I heard a group of footsteps coming closer, I grabbed the envelope and stuffed it down the top of my dress, thankful for the first time that it fit so large. I pulled my hair in front of my shoulders so that it flowed down the front of my dress to hopefully help stop any lines from the envelope from showing.
“You’ll have to excuse our ward Reverend,” I heard Mrs. Anderson say simperingly. “I’m sure you have heard that she is troubled. Please don’t expect her to be great company. I still am not sure why you wanted her present,” she added.
The Reverend most likely caught the end of my eye roll at Mrs. Anderson’s statement as he stepped through the entryway, but he didn’t make a comment. Instead he stopped abruptly and stared at me. His mouth gaping open in what looked like shock. His cheeks slightly reddened and his eyes seemed to expand on his face.
“Is this her?”, he wheezed out. Reverend Darby was a tall, imposing man that looked like although he had once been handsome, a life of luxury had led him to let himself go to seed. He was a tall man, with greying temples, and a belly that pooched out over his belted, expertly tailored suit bottoms.
The Reverend still hadn’t moved or taken his eyes off me, and it wasn’t until his wife cleared her throat behind him that he reddened even more and averted his eyes. Mr. Anderson had watched the interaction and was clearly not pleased.
“Please come sit down Reverend. This is Eva, but as we said before, she will have little to add to the conversation.”
This was one of the things I hated the most about my life. Beyond being lonely, any interaction I did have with others was tempered by the hateful and untrue things the Andersons spewed about me.
Despite Mr. Anderson’s comment, the Reverend leaped towards me to shake my hand.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he said still staring at me uncomfortably.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I answered politely. I saw Mrs. Anderson clench her hands out of the corner of my eye, and I quickly pulled my hand out of his, and walked quickly to the table to sit down. Although I could tell Mrs. Anderson wanted to order me to help move the dishes to the table, I saw her purse her lips tightly and begin to grab the dishes herself.
Lunch passed slowly with the Reverend and Mr. Anderson frequently staring at me with strange expressions on their faces. The Reverend attempted several times to ask me questions but Mr. or Mrs. Anderson were always quick to answer for me and cut off the conversation. Although I had been eager to get out of the attic and look at the sunshine, I hadn’t even glanced outside yet because I was so eager to know what was in the letter. I hadn’t applied to any colleges, and although I supposed the letter could have just been a general information packet, since I never received mail (or at least to my knowledge never received mail), I was still eager to return to the attic and look through the contents.
I looked up hurriedly when I heard my name.
“Eva would be an excellent addition to our youth program,” the Reverend was explaining to the Andersons. He quickly spoke over their objections with a strange glimmer in his eye as he turned to me and asked, “Wouldn’t you want to become involved in the Work, Eva?”
Something about his look sent a shiver down my spine. I saw his pious looking wife glance over at him with a worried look. Somehow I knew that getting involved in the youth program was not something I wanted to do, even if it gave me a chance to get out of the house.
I smiled politely, but did not answer. Mrs. Anderson quickly made an excuse of how busy I would be in therapy and my classes for troubled teenagers, and the conversation steered to another topic. I could still feel his eyes on me however, and the room quickly became too warm. This is how it often was when I met others. They stared at me until I wondered what I possibly could have on my face to inspire such looks. I was grateful when lunch was over and Mrs. Anderson attempted to hurry the Reverend and his wife out the door.
Before leaving he grabbed my hand and slowly brought it to my lips.
“It was a pleasure Eva, I will see you again soon,” he said softly, before swiftly leaving the room with his wife trailing after him.
I let out a deep breath and hurried to bring the dishes to the sink so I could return to the attic and open the letter. What seemed like hours later I was once again brought up to the attic by Mrs. Anderson. I waited until I heard the lock click, and the footsteps once again go down the stairs, before pulling the letter out excitedly. What could it be?