Walks Alone. Sandi MDiv Rog

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      Anna raised her hand to block his swing, but he grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet, dragged her out of the room and down the carpeted hallway. “You stupid child. I ought to throw you on the street for what you’ve done.”

      The stairs leading down to the entry hall appeared before her. She clung to his arm.

      He pried her loose. “Get off me, you little terror!” He tore her hands free and threw her down.

      She missed the first step then tumbled down the others. Her shin caught between the rails of the banister, and she jerked to a stop. Pain shot through her leg as she dangled from the rail halfway down the stairs.

      Uncle Horace turned to Mrs. Craw as she came up behind him. Her large hoop skirt swung up far enough for Anna to see her bloomers. “My husband believes I’m taking a stroll in the park.” Hands on hips, the woman glared at Anna. “How am I going to explain this tea stain?”

      Anna’s hands trembled as she leaned up to pull her leg free. Would Uncle Horace come after her again? She grasped the rails and climbed to her feet.

      “I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” He marched down the stairs, black eyes blazing, and grabbed her by the hair.

      She screamed and shuddered. “Papa!”

      He dragged her through the hall. “Papa’s not coming. He never loved you anyway.” They passed the grand parlor, and he shoved her into the small bedroom behind the kitchen.

      She tripped but caught herself on the bed.

      “Gather your dresses. All of them.”

      With quivering hands, she opened the wardrobe and collected all her garments. There weren’t many, since her uncle had only allowed one trunk of her belongings when she moved in.

      “Take that off,” he said, pointing to the dress she wore.

      Anna hesitated.

      “Now!”

      She got out of her dress as quickly as she could. Heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks as he stood watching. Glimpsing herself in the mirror, she noticed how thin and naked she looked.

      Carrying her dresses, ready to surrender to whatever punishment he chose to deal out, she came to the door in only her chemise.

      “Come,” he said.

      Favoring her bruised leg and trying not to trip over the dresses, she hobbled behind him back up the stairs. It was difficult keeping up with his long strides.

      When they returned to the study, Mrs. Craw stood glaring at her with thin lips turned up as if in smug satisfaction.

      Uncle Horace snatched the dresses out of her arms.

      One at a time, he tossed all her lovely gowns into the large fireplace. The flames exploded and then calmed as they melted away the beautiful silk and crinoline fabrics.

      “Nay,” Anna whispered as she sank to her knees. Her father had given her those dresses. They were all she had.

      “There are maid’s uniforms hanging in your wardrobe,” her uncle said, beads of sweat covering his flushed forehead. “You will wear those.”

      “They don’t fit me, sir,” she whispered, thinking about the adult clothing that hung there.

      “Wear them!” He clenched his teeth. “Now go.” He pointed to the door. “I don’t want to see your sniveling face again.”

      She limped down the stairs, shivering from the cold and trembling over her situation. Trapped. With nowhere to run. She stumbled past the parlor and into the kitchen, wishing to warm herself by the stove, but the fire had long gone out.

      Dejected, she limped into her small room, which had formerly belonged to a maidservant, and closed the door behind her. Her father’s portrait stood on the nightstand, the only sight of familiarity and joy. Trembling, she hugged it to herself then fell on the bed and wept.

      “I miss you, Papa.” Sobs choked her for a long time while her arm and leg throbbed in pain. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Shivering in her chemise, she pulled the covers around her for warmth.

       Her father’s handsome, serious face looked back at her from the photo. “I wish you were here.” Loneliness swept over her in a thick wave of nausea. She stared at her father through blurred vision, trying to imagine what he might say, trying to hear his voice. The Lord is with you. You’re not alone.

      If that were true, Anna should be able to feel His presence. She tried to feel God. To feel His closeness. Nothing but the cold draft sighing beneath her door swept over her cheeks and made her shiver.

      Why was He so far away?

      Not daring to give in to her fear, she wiped her eyes and then scooted up on her elbow, but painful tingles shot through her arm, so she decided to sit up. She kissed her papa’s portrait.

      “Tell me a story, Papa. Tell me about the Indians, just like you used to do.” She’d hoped to meet some Indians when they went to Denver City.

      With that, an idea struck, and she slid off the bed. Underneath, still packed in her carpetbag, she found the book her father had read before his death. She kept it hidden from her uncle, for he had said it was shameful to read books. She brushed against the jewelry box and Bible that once belonged to her mother. She kept those hidden too.

      Anna sighed at seeing the purse of paste jewelry Mariska had given to her. Uncle Horace had released her nanny as soon as they’d arrived, and since then, they’d lost contact. She had likely found work somewhere far away. If only Anna could go somewhere far away too.

       She pushed the jewelry box and Bible back farther into the carpetbag and grabbed the book, The Last of the Mohicans. Though her father had read it, he refused to read it to her, saying she was too young.

      She climbed back onto her small bed, picked up her father’s picture, and laid the book on her lap. Tenderly, she brushed her fingers across his face. How she missed his blue eyes and warm laughter.

      “I wish you were here so you could read to me.” She loved losing herself in the sound of his voice, and right now, it was the only way she could escape her life. Hmm . . . she could simply read the story and imagine him reading it to her.

      Drained by her tears, Anna hugged the photo. If only she could leave this place. She didn’t know how, but she knew where—Denver City. That’s where home was supposed to be. Perhaps God would find a way to take her there? He could take her away, far away from New York where nobody wanted her. She would be gone, no longer a burden to anyone.

      Yes. He would rescue her.

      Please save me, Lord. Take me away from here. Far away.

      ~*~

      New York

      May 1870

      “It will never happen again,” Anna whispered to herself in the looking glass. After six long years, her uncle had beaten her for the last time. She winced СКАЧАТЬ