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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781615990658 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Modern History Press |
| Publication date: | 01/01/2011 |
| Series: | Whispers Trilogy |
| Pages: | 170 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.39(d) |
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Great Expectations
I was stark naked and utterly terrified. I desperately struggled to escape as one brother had a tight grip of my wrists and the other maintained a firm hold of my ankles while they dragged and dropped me — twisting, kicking, and screaming — toward the thicket of brambles and nettles.
"Go on! What are you waiting for? Throw her in!" my foster parents jeered and urged. For many differing reasons I was never going to forget this holiday in the English countryside or the year of my 5th birthday 1961. Confused and frightened, I used my eyes in a final, futile effort to plead for mercy with Paul, my older brother, as he fought to maintain his grip on my ankles, but instead, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that I had never seen before — fear! My legs were scraped and bleeding from being dragged across the rocky ground before they swung me back and forth to gain momentum and tossed me into the brambles and nettles like a discarded sack of garbage. I screamed hysterically and struggled frantically to stand on stones that cut into the soles of my feet while the brambles tore into my naked flesh. I flailed about and grappled with failure to escape my thorny landing. My pleas for help were ignored as my foster parents simply stood by laughing at me.
Daddy-Beard, my innocent, affectionate nickname for my foster father, finally came to my rescue and lifted me out. He set me on the safety of the grass, still chuckling in amusement at my torture, but I ran crying to the security of my tent. This had to be a waking nightmare!
I sat in the tent holding Molly Dolly for reassurance, not understanding why I was being tormented. My body felt as though thousands of burning needles were stabbing my delicate young skin while painful, angry-looking red welts formed and covered the backs of my legs and buttocks. I wrapped the sleeping bag around my naked body and Molly Dolly in my childish effort to find comfort. I heard the family outside chatting and carrying on as if nothing had happened and everything were fine, which confused me even more; why did they enjoy hurting me? Was I so unlovable that I deserved to be treated like this? I thought.
Finding a patch of skin that did not hurt proved to be rather difficult as I carefully, gingerly, put clothes on and pushed myself into the back corner of the tent. I never wanted to go outside again! When Mother called me out to put cream on my injuries, I shuddered instead. Seeing the dried blood, in addition to the stinging, only enhanced my fear — I did not like these games they enjoyed playing so much.
"Sharon! Don't be a Silly Billy! This cream is magic — it'll help stop the stinging."
I crawled to the tent doorway, cautiously checking to make sure no one was ready to pounce, and quickly ran to Mother. Standing next to her, I screamed at the top of my voice at my brothers, "I hate you both!"
"Come on, Sharon! It was only a game! You have your clothes on inside out," Mother teased as she dabbed pink cream on my skin.
"Sharon is a big baby!" Daddy-Beard teased as well.
"I don't love you! You were laughing at me!" I sniffled and pouted. "I'm telling my teacher what you did."
"Paul and Mark threw you in darling — I didn't do anything," Daddy-Beard said, deftly trying to protest his innocence.
"You told them to do it!" I shrieked defiantly. Paul and Mark looked on in amazement, but I was not about to back down.
"I promise it won't ever happen again, darling. Give daddy a cuddle." The episode was quickly dismissed as he gave me a hug and convinced me that Daddy was the hero of the day who rescued me from the clutches of my mean, abusive brothers.
That vacation was otherwise filled with treats, fun and Games — games that did not include me — but Paul and Mark were less fortunate. We ate dinner and sang songs around the fire, and I was beginning to feel like we were a family unit with my brothers and a mommy and daddy. We had already been placed in three different orphanages in as many years, but I was allowing myself to hope that this placement would be permanent and happy.
"Come on then! Time for bed." Mummy led me to the tent and tucked me into my sleeping bag. As she told a bedtime story about a little girl who lived in the forest, I listened intently to her soothing voice. When she finished her story, I watched as her shadow disappeared from the tent and moved toward the campfire. Watching the silhouettes of my parents' movements as they sat near the fire and talked in hushed tones made me sleepy, inviting the sleep-dust that angels softly blew into my eyes.
The trees bent toward me as their shadows danced within the flickering glow of the campfire. I was sure I could hear the wind whispering my name as I listened with my head lying close to the entrance. I gripped Molly Dolly tighter as the branches bent in the wind, outstretched, reaching for me, looking to snatch me from my sleeping bag and throw me into the thicket of brambles and nettles again. An owl hooting in the darkness sent me hiding and shivering deep inside my sleeping bag. I was terrified and no longer sleepy! Finally, with Molly Dolly gripped firmly in my tiny hand, too afraid to sleep, I ran barefooted to the safety of Mummy and Daddy sitting beside the campfire.
"I want to stay in your tent!" I begged in my squeaky little-girl voice.
Daddy led me back to my tent and tucked me in. The sound of the zipper closing was magnified by the silence of the campsite. I watched his shadow disappear from my tent as I cowered in my sleeping bag, quiet, tense and terrified, eyes wide and watchful until finally falling asleep as the day was dawning.
My brothers were surprisingly happy when the tents were dismantled and we all climbed into the car for the journey home. Our foster parents delighted in causing them distress, and I was afraid for them even then. Sometimes they were punished too harshly, but I was usually spared from the harsh punishments because I was "just a little girl," and there were times when Paul and Mark resented me because of it. Apart from the camping trip, I was never physically abused, but my brothers were.
One day, as the school holidays were coming to an end, Daddy-Beard, who was a mechanic and very skillful with his hands, (he made a beautiful dollhouse, complete with all the furniture, for me) promised to take all three of us into the garage and show us the camper van he was restoring. This invitation was special because the garage was a forbidden place to us. Daddy-Beard lifted me onto his shoulders, making me feel like I was his princess, and he took us into his garage.
"Wow, Daddy! It has a sink! Look! A stove!" I had never seen anything like it and it captivated my imagination. "One day when I am bigger, I'm going to buy one and drive all around the world! Will you build me one, Daddy, when I'm a big girl?"
"Anything for my princess, but you must let me travel with you."
"Don't forget to take us!" Mark chimed in.
He lifted us, each in turn, to see inside the van. Then he allowed Paul and Mark to explore the garage as he worked on the van a little more, but he warned them not to touch anything. I played in the dirt with a small dinky car as the garage held no fascination for a little girl of five. Mark and Paul, at six and seven years old, excitedly examined and scrutinized everything.
"Time to go," Daddy-Beard announced. "I'll clean up in here and then we can go for a nice drive."
The boys were a little disappointed that the time spent was short, but I had seen enough and preferred to get back to my dolly. We raced back to the house, chattering excitedly. I waited patiently for Daddy-Beard to finish his work and come into the house. When I heard doors slam, I ran to him excitedly, "Daddy! Daddy!"
He brushed past me, his face angry and contorted. I knew instantly that my brothers were in trouble. He bellowed at all of us, demanding to know who had stood on the bumper. We each looked to the others with condemning stares.
"Go and get my slipper!" he commanded. "I am going to teach you both a lesson you won't soon forget!"
Mummy lifted me onto the kitchen counter.
"Trousers down! You two stand in line! Paul first!"
The confrontation was scaring me as he raised his arm above his head. As the slipper connected to the bare flesh of his buttocks, Paul cried out in agony. Mark was visibly terrified as he watched, knowing he was next.
"Mummy, make him stop!" I cried.
"Don't cry, honey. He won't punish you. We know you're too small to reach the bumper."
But that was not why I was crying. Paul was my hero, my big brother, and so was Mark; I was feeling their pain and afraid for them.
"Bend over, Mark! Your turn! I won't stop until one of you admits to standing on the bumper and leaving a goddamn footprint on my new paint job!" Daddy was furious!
Once again he lifted his arm high above his head, and Mark screeched in agony as the slipper connected with the intended target. This was too horrible for me! I wanted to get down and run and hide in the garden.
"Stay here, young lady. Watch and learn. See how the lily-assed boys cry for nothing." Mummy was cold in her manner toward the boys' suffering, like she was enjoying the show. "Watch their cheeks glow red! They won't be sitting down for awhile!" She was laughing demonically, mocking the terrified boys, taking delight in belittling them and contributing to the pain and humiliation that Daddy-Beard was administering to them. It seemed to go on for hours, as each of my brothers took his turn to be beaten, the sound of the slipper connecting with his bare flesh, again and again and again. I was sickened, but all I could do was cry — I was no match against grown-ups.
"Did you do it?" he continuously questioned with each beating.
"No, Daddy!" They both protested their innocence, but with each protest, they were ordered to bend and touch their toes — he was relentless and merciless.
As I looked at Daddy-Beard, I wished that he would drop dead. I closed my eyes and covered my ears, trying to drown out my brothers' pain and foster father's joy. Every scream made me want to run. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and started humming, but nothing worked; I could still hear their cries and every connection of slipper to skin: "It was me! I did it!" I blurted a confession, knowing they would not hurt me physically — at worst, I would be made to sit in my room. Both boys looked at me with anger on their faces.
"Don't lie, Sharon! How could you have done it?"
"I don't know how I did it, but I did it!" I cried.
I was sent to my room and ordered to stay there. Supper was bought on a tray. Both brothers blamed me for the terrible thrashing they had received — both believed my admission of guilt.
Paul entered my room that night and pushed me down on my bed. He slapped me and hissed that he would never forgive me! I should have said something sooner, before they were hit, he added with unrestrained anger. He snatched my precious Molly Dolly and snapped off her head! He had never shown such fury and hatred like that before. I didn't tell on him because I was afraid of what they would do to him. Later, I told Daddy that Molly Dolly's head had accidentally come off. After he mended her, I cooed softly and stroked her hair, trying to make her feel better.
The staff at the school we attended noticed behavior changes in us. Mark had become withdrawn, Paul was becoming more aggressive toward his peers, and I was too quiet. After yet another violent tantrum by Paul toward his teacher, the head-teacher advised sending him to see a doctor. There Paul disclosed the abuse both he and my brother were suffering.
The authorities were notified, and we were taken from our home and foster parents. Mummy explained that she had a bad back and needed her rest. When her back was better she would come and take us home, she promised. We were each allowed to bring two toys with us, which was fine by me because I believed we wouldn't be away too long. I chose my stuffed monkey and my treasured Molly Dolly, but Paul and Mark refused to take anything but their clothes. Again, we were placed in another orphanage.
Each day was filled with an earnest and hopeful wish that today was the day Mummy and Daddy-Beard would take me home. Every night, I knelt beside my bed and prayed for them to come, and always, I wondered what I had done wrong. Adjusting to my new life was impossible. After school, I watched other children running to their parents and being swept into their arms, which only served as a painful reminder that my parents were nowhere around.
"What's wrong with me that no one can love me?" I asked myself. I remembered when I first met Mummy and Daddy-Beard how scared I was of them, but I had decided to trust them. Now I just felt worthless and confused. I was angry with all adults, but I was too young to find the right words to express it.
Mark and Paul were happy to be safe and away from the abuse. Paul had decided he never wanted a family again, but Mark yearned to have a family, as I did. In fact, it was my only birthday, Christmas, and every day wish.
We acclimatized to life in an orphanage once again, and we became inseparable over the following months; the animosity and division once felt between us at our foster home was gone. Mark and I both looked to Paul for guidance because, being the oldest, he knew everything. When we were called to the office and informed that we were being separated and that the boys were being moved, I cried in anguish. My brothers were to leave the following morning and we had no say in the matter. When the time came to say goodbye, I thought my heart would break and my tears would never stop. We all cried and clung to each other as they dragged us apart. I became hysterical and refused to let go of them, but they were plucked from me and taken away despite my efforts. I was to be on my own once again, and when the car arrived to take me to a new home, I could only close my eyes and mind to the day's events as the adults disregarded my feelings and preferences and made all my decisions for me. When I looked at the adults around me, I loathed each one and blamed them for my loneliness.
I learned the routine of yet another home, but I felt increasingly unhappy and missed my brothers terribly as each month passed. I withdrew from life, refused to play and interact with the other children, and then ceased eating. I failed to thrive and was steadily becoming weaker. It was as if I were trying to disintegrate slowly, cell by cell, until there was nothing left of me, but back then, all I knew was that my world had been taken from me, and I was incredibly lonely and unhappy. Even the hustle and bustle of the preparations for Christmas could not excite me or hold my attention.
Finally, the decision was made to move me to the orphanage where my brothers were until a place could be found for the three of us to be together again. We had been apart for almost seven months, which is a long time for a seven-year-old child. I wondered why we had not been placed there in the first place so I was spared the emotional turmoil, but my inquiry was answered when I overheard a conversation between the two women in the car on my journey down. The driver was explaining to her passenger that there were no vacancies until now. It was a boys' only home and highly unusual to place a girl there; in fact, I was the first. But my health at this point in time was more important than protocol.
Mark, Paul, and I hugged and jumped around excitedly when we were finally reunited. As my brothers showed me around the grounds, I was the happiest little girl in the world that day! I kept touching them to make sure I was not dreaming. A large forest marked the outside boundary of the orphanage, and we fantasized about running away and making a den to live in, the way wild animals do.
"We could live there forever and no one would be able to split us up ever again!" Paul said wistfully. The bluebells carpeted the woods and the spiderwebs resembled jewels in the morning mist. I could not contain my happiness — my brothers and I were together again at last!
Because I was the only girl, I had a room to myself — at the top of the house. As I climbed the winding staircase, I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. The house seemed dark and eerie and my vivid imagination was working overtime.
The bare floorboards echoed each footstep as I slowly approached the wooden bed that stood alone in the corner. When I turned around, I spotted a tiny cupboard for my clothes. A little window with small panes of glass looked out of place to me. It looked as if it had been added as an afterthought, but the view was pleasant. I could see above the trees and beyond the hill. I sat on the edge of the bed and dangled my feet; then Molly Dolly was placed lovingly on my pillow before I decided to return downstairs to find Paul.
"I don't like the room."
"Don't worry, Sharon. I'll sneak up tonight and stay with you for awhile."
True to his word, Paul checked in that night to make sure I was okay.
"I need to pee," I told him, crossing my legs tightly and trying to balance myself on one foot.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "A House Full of Whispers"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Sharon Wallace.
Excerpted by permission of Loving Healing Press, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Poems,
Chapter 1 – Great Expectations,
Chapter 2 – Crying Wolf,
Chapter 3 – Be Careful What You Wish For,
Chapter 4 – Seeds in the Wind,
Chapter 5 – Sharon, the Perfect Imperfection,
Chapter 6 – Bury it Deep — Don't Cry,
Chapter 7 – Who Will Mourn My Passing?,
About the Author,
Index,