Read Online The Hired Girl by Laura Amy Schlitz - Free Book Online Page B

that could justify him burning my books and throwing the covers in the slop pail. “Took from you! What did I ever take from you?”
    Father stepped forward. “I had a wife,” he said, and there was so much hatred in his voice that it sent a chill down my spine. “She was a good worker and a helpmeet, till you came along. We had three sons, and the doctor told her not to have another. He said she wasn’t strong —”
    I couldn’t believe he was blaming me for Ma’s death. “She wasn’t strong because you worked her to death!” I shrieked. “She was too frail to do all that work! I
helped
her —
you
worked her to death —”
    He went for me then. I must have known he was going to strike me, because I dodged the blow and shot for the door. Down the stairs I went, and I had it in my mind to dash out the kitchen door and escape into the darkness. But at the bottom of the stairs I turned to face him. I clutched the newel post to my bosom like a shield. “Don’t you dare strike me!” I yelled, and I scarcely knew my own voice; it was so low and harsh and fierce.
    I stop now, writing this. Because I think — I
think
— that even though I was shouting at Father, I meant the boys to hear me. It all happened so fast, and I was in the grip of passion. But I
think
that at the back of my mind, there was an idea that if the boys knew Father meant to strike me, they might come.
    But they didn’t. Father stopped halfway down the stairs, as if there were a barrier between us that he didn’t want to cross. I could feel his glare in the darkness. “She wanted a little girl!” he yelled, and I never heard the words
little girl
sound so terrible in all my life. They sounded like profanity. “After you were born, she didn’t give two cents about anything but you.” His voice rose to a falsetto; he was mimicking Ma. “‘Joan has to have hair ribbons! Joan has to have a doll! Joan has to go to high school! Promise me you won’t ever hit Joan! ’” He dropped the falsetto and bellowed, “She turned her back on her husband and forgot her sons! All she cared about was her precious Joan —”
    “That’s not true!” I shouted, but it was no use, because now Father was thundering at me, and the things he said came so fast it was as if they were hailstones. He said I was stuck-up and conceited and a sneak, always reading instead of doing my chores. He said he’d promised Ma he wouldn’t hit me, but that a good whipping might have been the saving of me, only it was too late now. He said I was idle and clumsy and such a big ugly ox of a girl that nobody’d ever take me off his hands. I can’t even remember all the cruel things he said, but listening to them was like having someone hold my nose and tip back my head and pour poison into my mouth. At first I cried out in defiance, saying I wasn’t, and none of it was true. But after a while I only cried. I put my head down on the newel post and waited for him to stop. After a long time I heard him go up the stairs. He shut the bedroom door with a bang.
    Then all was quiet, except for my sobs. But the quiet was terrible. I knew the boys must have heard us shouting, but they hadn’t come to protect me. The fight was between Father and me, and they were content that it should be so. If even one of my brothers — oh, Mark!— had come downstairs and spoken up for me, or come to console me, I would have knelt down and clasped my arms around his boots. But there was only silence.
    And now I think — oh, it makes me miserable to write it — that some of what Father said was true. I don’t mean that Ma did anything wrong. I’m sure she loved us all the same, but she did favor me, and I guess the boys were jealous. I think about Luke, especially, because we used to play together when we were little things. Then he turned seven, and Father took him in hand. Luke turned nasty, seems like overnight. I missed him, but Ma told me that Luke was a big boy now and didn’t have time