Longe Estate - Transient || Kathryn [Closed]

May 5, 1919
The Gloria Whitfield Home for Children
10 AM

“Don’t you have any…others?”

Eleanor Longe moved past the children gathered for her perusal, a subtle disdain twisting at the corner of her mouth. It was the fifth ‘home’ in a fortnight, and each had proven to be as disappointing as the other. There was an abundance of children, certainly, but the slender woman with her oversized sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat had managed to find a problem with them all.

Hair too dark, eyes in the wrong colours—too far apart, too close together, crooked, ugly teeth, wide or overly pointed noses—one looked like a little pig and had a nasty attitude to match.

Boy or girl, it hadn’t mattered so much to her but opening her options to both genders did very little good when only the bottom of the barrel found themselves wards in a system that had already forgotten about them.

She didn’t pity them. It was disgust that filled her as one tried to reach out to take her gloved hand in theirs. Even through the satin fabric, her skin crawled but the woman in all her fine jewellery and tailored navy-blue dress sporting a bow by the neckline managed a tight, polite smile as she gently drew her hand away.

“I’m just not quite sure any of these will do.”

George stood stiffly at her side, one hand performatively resting at the small of her back while he waited for the humiliation to be over. It had been her idea to find a child. After years of fruitless trying and bitter fights, it had been time for them to return to England and the couple had no heir to show for it. Ellie couldn’t bear the disparaging looks of her in-laws anymore than he was prepared to explain to their circle that they’d had an unproductive marriage.

In a fit of desperation following the last miscarriage, the idea struck her to find a child that was already there. One young enough to be moulded but not so young it needed tremendous care. One that looked enough like them both to avoid suspicions. Aside from the odd letter here and there, they hadn’t kept in great contact with anyone back in England. Showing up with a child would’ve been unexpected but just plausible enough if they did it right.

First, they had to find a child.

“There is…one more.” The director for the home hesitated visibly, uncertain it was worth bringing up.

“Where?” Ellie cooed, interest renewed by the prospect. It was, perhaps, their last hope. George wouldn’t suffer being dragged across the country much longer and there were only so many homes that housed magical children. They did what they could to conceal their identities, but it was only a matter of time before something leaked.

Further shame was to be avoided.

“In the back garden, or the bedrooms, I believe but—”

“Take us to him—or her, it doesn’t matter. We’d like to see, wouldn’t we darling?”

Ellie smiled up at George, a twinkle of affection attempting to pass from her blue eyes and into his piercing grey. He looked through her as if she hadn’t spoken, a brief moment of silence hanging between them before his own forced smile. His hand tightened behind her, nearly pinching into her back as if to say he was nearing his limit and didn’t wish to abide the depressing atmosphere of abandonment and poverty for much longer.

“Kathryn…may not be the right fit,” the director tried. “She’s a brilliant girl—has come a far way from the time she arrived at the home.” An uncomfortable pause arose as the older woman’s eyes drifted down a long, poorly lit corridor.

“Is it down this way?” Ellie asked, deciding she would simply show herself to the child. She took off down the hallway, her low-heeled pumps clacking softly against the concrete while her husband’s steps silently trailed hers. Other, more frantic steps followed, catching up each time before hesitating and falling behind again as if the director were conflicted in what she attempted to do.

Ellie tried each door until she came to a room housing a child that sat perfectly still in bed. The room itself was nothing special. The walls were bare, save the few drawings that littered one corner. Two windows allowed light and air into the room, the paint on their frames chipped and stripped and the wood beginning to break apart in places. There was a box of toys in varying states of ‘newness’ beneath the drawings. Some were old and falling apart, others looked freshly donated and only lightly used. The beds showed obvious signs of use, sheets and blankets tossed carelessly, all except for the bed upon which the little girl sat.

There wasn’t a crease or a crinkle, except in the place she sat.

The little girl didn’t look up when they entered the room, showing no indication she’d heard them at all. The book in her hand held her attention, blue eyes floating along the words, interrogating each sentence and assimilating the knowledge.

Ellie drifted over to her, leaving George and the director by the door. She reached a gloved hand beneath the little girl’s chin, forcing it upward to get a better look at her. A soft gasp escaped the woman.

“Aren’t you simply darling?”

The child blinked but gave no other reaction. Her features remained persistently impassive even while Ellie’s eyes began to sparkle with almost predatory glee. She’d found the one. The perfect one.

“You seem like fine people,” the director said, finally hurrying over to the pair. She’d taken in the smart attire of the couple that whispered of wealth and position and had come to her own conclusions. “I believe you would benefit from a more…affable child. Kathryn is…well…in the interest of being honest, many who’ve visited the house find her a bit unsettling.” She spoke as if the little girl weren’t there, her gaze fixed on the woman with growing concern.

“Is she deaf?” Ellie asked, taking her little face gently into both hands and prying her mouth open to get a better look at her teeth. One missing off the left side and another at the bottom. They would grow in. Her teeth were fine. Removing one glove, she ran her hand along her pale skin.

Soft.

“N—No, she hears quite well, she just—”

“How is she with her studies?”

“Above her level but—”

“Behaviour?”

“Compliant, but—”

“She’s the one. Kathryn,” Ellie repeated, finally loosing her from her grasp. “Darling, come have a look,” she beckoned with newfound excitement. When George came over, she looped an arm around his, hardly able to contain herself while she waited for his final approval. For the first time since they’d begun their search, the woman was finally able to believe that it would all work itself out.

For her part, the child went back to her reading, her eyes once again listlessly moving across the page while the adults around her continued as if she weren’t there.

June 12, 1919
Longe Estate
9:54 AM

The green flames of the floo network faded to reveal a large sitting room. The space was sterile. It held colours of white with gold trimmings, save for the accented wall of warm taupe that housed several portraits. Most prominently displayed was the image of her 'parents', gazing down at her with an air of detached superiority.

“Welcome to your new home, darling,” Ellie said, squeezing lightly at both her shoulders as she stepped out from the fireplace behind her. The woman exhaled deeply, as if a large weight had finally been removed from her. With hands firmly on the little girl’s shoulders, she began leading her through the room and toward the archway leading into the hall.

“I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled—your father and I have already bought the finest things for you. I can’t wait for you to see. After, I’ll show you about the house and the gardens. Lunch is at 12—but we mustn’t dawdle, you’ve got to be fitted for the dress I’m having made for the garden party in August. There’ll be plenty of people to meet and we’ve got a lot to cover before then.”

Kate remained silent through her ‘mother’s’ ramblings, discarding each piece of information almost the moment it was received. It was too much for her to process; she was already overwhelmed, her passive veneer her only shield against the upheaval that had met her with the rising sun.

She’d woken in her bed like she did every other day at the home. Bed spread, hair brushed, teeth, fresh clothing, breakfast…the garden. That was where it all went wrong. The little girl had been sat by a row of yellow peonies, watching an army of ants crowd about the carcass of a dead House Sparrow when she’d been collected and brought to the front.

It had been her, again, the man who’d accompanied her nowhere in sight. The woman she’d been told in no uncertain terms that she must now ‘affectionately’ call ‘mummy’ had shown up in another beautiful dress. This one didn’t have a fancy bow by the collar, but it had the most beautiful patterns embroidered by the hemline of the skirting. It was pastel pink, perfectly suited for the summer with its light, cotton fabric. She wore another wide-rimmed hat, this one bone white with a delicate bluebell pinned to the side. Her hands were covered by gloves again, satin and rising past her wrists. Clutched in those hands was a purse with a silver clasp that glistened. The woman had worn a wide grin, her eyes still obscured by large, dark lenses while she insisted she give her a hug.

There had been no hug.

There had been no goodbyes.

The latter had been offered to her but the only person she wanted to see a final time—as she understood now that she was being taken—wasn’t there. He was off at school. No…not school. The older children who went to his school had already returned and were buzzing with talk of a summer facility and the year they’d had.

Not Benny. He hadn’t come back.

There was no one else to share a farewell with, no one she thought would take notice of her absence, no one else to whom she hoped her absence would matter.

The hallway revealed a busy house. It was evident that the pair were still settling in. Hired help moved about, hanging portraits, unloading boxes, rearranging spaces. Ellie gave nearly all of them corrections or new orders are they walked by, airily letting them know she’d picked up her daughter from her grandparents’ and hoped she wouldn’t be in their way.

Kate could feel herself shrinking with each step she took into this world for which she knew she didn’t belong. Being so young, there was yet a lot of life she hadn’t lived and a great many experiences she hadn’t encountered, but in her limited knowledge, she already knew she didn’t belong amid this opulence and grace. She was only a dirty little girl from Hackney with parents who hadn’t been very good at taking care of her.

Their walk ended at an ornate door in the colour of ivory. There were intricate patterns carved into its face. Looking closely, one might make out little flowers that formed a garden.

The inside was as lavish. It was unnecessarily large for a girl so small, imposing, already threatening to swallow her whole. There were porcelain dolls along the wall shelves, silently casting down their judgment on the pair when they entered. There were drawings tacked tastefully along the wall, drawings she hadn't lifted a finger to complete. There were toys thrown down along the rug, haphazard to reflect the carelessness of a child, but, to the discerning eye, much too organised in their chaos to have ever been interacted with.

A large four-poster bed stood flush against the centre of the furthest wall in quiet luxury. From the canopy above hung a sheer, whisper-thin fabric that draped elegantly around the posts. It, too, could easily swallow the girl. By the pillows sat a plethora of stuffed animals, some large and some small, eagerly waiting for her to join them.

It was the sort of room she’d never dreamed of; the kind she supposed princesses from the fairytales Benny used to read to her would have.

It couldn’t have been for her. None of this could’ve been.

Ellie scoffed, blue eyes scrutinising the girl for the first time since she’d picked her up. “Let’s get you out of those dreadful rags. We’ll them most like. There’s no saving them now,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain as she pinched at the worn sleeve of Kathryn's faded t-shirt.

“We’ll run you a proper bath. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, lifting her hand to take hold of Kate’s chin. She tapped it lightly before moving to the closet that ran along the left most wall. “Then we’ll dress you in the cutest dress—Kathryn,” she called, shooting her a look over her shoulder. “Come.”

Wordlessly, Kate moved forward, settling beside the woman who’d already begun pulling dress after dress from the rack. The woman held each up to her, gauging them against the hue of her skin before settling on a dress of light powder blue with white frills along the skirting and sleeves.

“We must do something about your hair,” she said next, lightly swatting at the ponytail that frizzed behind her. “There’s much to do—that reminds me, your governess will be here in the morning to begin your lessons,” Ellie continued, dragging Kate back across the room to lay the dress on the bed. The woman left her there, drifting over to the chest of drawers to fish out a pair of stockings with floral patterns on the outer sides and a small pair of gloves.

“She’ll be responsible for your meals and clothing as well, but it’s just us girls, today,” she said with a wistful sigh, losing herself in the appearance of motherhood.

Kate could only stare. Her nerves were firing off on all cylinders as the permanency of her situation began to set in. The little girl wanted to run but was painfully aware that there was no place to go. Her brother had left her; she didn’t know where she would find him or whether she’d ever see him again. The realisation of that brought a stab of pain she hadn’t expected.

Benny had been the last of her familiar world and now he was lost.

Rather, it was her who was lost and every haunting thought sneered at her that she would never be found. She would be swallowed up by this new world without any of the comforts she knew.

The worst of it? There was nothing she could do while terror began to eat at her from the inside out.

June 20, 1919
7:34 PM

The tension at the dinner table was thick enough to suffocate a grown erumpent. The occasional clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates melded with the soft music of Vivaldi’s “concerto for 2 Mandolins” that caressed the dead air within the room. Before them was spread the night’s meal, smoked salmon canapés, a succulent beef wellington coated with a layer of pâté and duxelles, roasted asparagus drizzled with olive oil and just a sprinkle of sea salt and thinly sliced potatoes baked in a creamy garlic sauce. There had been a promise of dessert once they called for it, freshly made crème brûlée, the scent of its baking still wafting through that wing of the estate after it had been done.

The meal was topped off by her ‘father’s’ usual reticence and the twisted grimace of displeasure that sat prominently on her ‘mother’s’ face.

The woman hardly touched her food, consumed by rage and frustration that had been building throughout the day. Now, she wished to unleash her anger but understood the consequences of disrupting her husband's ability to enjoy a peaceful meal.

Kate had watched him strike her not two nights back, a cold and deliberate attempt to remind her of her place and who truly held the reins. That night, Ellie sat, red in the face, hoping her husband would inquire about her and unleash the floodgates that had been holding back the storm of her ire.

At first, it didn’t seem like he would.

The three sat in the silence, the little girl avoiding any foods that required the use of the knife she hadn’t yet mastered. It would only be another sprinkle of salt in the wound her actions had unwittingly gouged into the woman’s chest.

Her approach to dinner had been systematic, as it always was. She ate the greens first. Then the starch. Then the meat. In that order with very few exceptions.

“Alright,” George said, replacing his utensils on either side of his plate before turning those scrutinising grey eyes on his wife. There was a sharp noise as he sucked at a bit of salmon that had lodged itself uncomfortably into his teeth. He leaned back with a subdued sigh, sparing her only the briefest of unconcerned glances before diving in with reluctance. “What’s happened?”

It was a question he would live to regret.

Eleanor’s face contorted with the sum of her indignation, her face somehow growing a deeper, more worrisome shade of red. Any deeper and she ran the risk of going purple.

“Ask your daughter,” she spat, her eyes cold and reproachful as they landed on the little girl. It was the look she’d received all morning, and the sting had long since dulled. Kate merely forked another little cut of her beef and placed it quietly in her mouth, waiting to hear the rant for what might have been the millionth time.

“Ask her what she did today, ask her,” she demanded.

Her ‘father’ looked at her.

She looked back.

He sighed again, more exasperated at himself for having been goaded into looking when it had become clear that Kathryn did not speak. “Must we with the dramatics tonight? I’ve got an early morning tomorrow and would rather not retire with a headache.” The man swivelled his glass of aged Scotch whiskey, the corners of his lips dipping as his patience began to wane.

It only made her ‘mother’ angrier.

“You’ll never understand the embarrassment she put me through at the Royal Courts. She was possessed! Threw herself on the floor and screamed bloody murder the moment the woman brought out the paperwork to verify the name change. You’d swear she was being murdered. Security came running, George, the fucking security. You’ll have to take her. I can’t—I won’t go through that again."

He looked at Kate.

She looked at him.

Another forkful of beef.

It was true. While she couldn’t say what had suddenly come over her, Kate had indeed screamed her lungs raw until the clerk gently suggested that Ellie rethink the request. She’d taken the forms back, suggesting they go home for the time being and return when things were calmer. By then, half the staff had drifted over to watch the little girl fall apart in a desperate attempt to keep the only part of her that remained.

Her name.

He sighed. “Just leave her be, Ellie. Kathryn is already a fine na—”

“We agreed, George!” she all but screamed, slamming both fists against the table and nearly spilling her wine in the process. “We agreed we were changing her name to ‘Evangeline Rose’ in honour of both our grandmothers. She can’t just pitch a fit every time she doesn’t like something. Do something—you’re just sitting there. Scold her, George, be her father."

He took a long sip of his drink, letting Ellie’s words hang heavily in the air, desperate for response. When the glass was lowered, his index finger peeled away from the condensation laced glass to point at her.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and foreboding.

It rattled her enough to have her sitting back in her chair, half her fire lost to the burning sting of his quiet rebuke.

“She walked out on her class today,” she said, her voice distorted with the faintest traces of defeat. “Just got up and walked to the table in her parlour and began eating. There was nothing Olivia could do to get her back to her study table.”

“What time was it?”

“The fuck does that matter?” she asked, only barely catching herself before she managed to lash out.

George rolled his eyes, the weight of his long-suffering beginning to press in on him. He looked to Kate again. “Midday?”

The little girl nodded.

The governess had spent too long over-explaining a topic she’d had a particular interest in. All the while, Kate had watched the clock, following each tick as it moved closer to the middle of the day. When the clock struck 12, she got up and moved to the parlour, where she knew her lunch would be waiting. She ate for precisely 24 minutes this time then moved to the cushioned ledge seat at the window where she read until the stroke of 1 PM. Only then did she return to her desk and reclaim her quill, staring on expectantly at the woman, the appearance of a child ready to learn, rather than one that had been yelled at for the past hour in a bid to make her comply.

“It was lunch time,” he said, rising from the table now that he’d had an earful. He moved quietly around the table, coming to a stop by his wife where he leaned in to plant a kiss at the base of her neck. “I’ve already had the bath drawn. Don’t keep me waiting.” He straightened, turning to face his newly acquired daughter. There were flecks of amusement in his eyes, recognised only by the most discerning.

“Good night, Kathryn. Ensure Baxter gets you your dessert before you go to bed.”

“She doesn’t deserv—”

The severe look he shot at Eleanor saw her swallowing her protest. Fed up, she tossed down her napkin and rose from the table, too.

Kate glanced up at the clock. It was only 7:37. Dinner wasn’t done. The little girl watched the pair leave the dining room, neither sparing her another glance. When Baxter returned, she ate her dessert despite being uncomfortably full and then waited in silence for 8 PM to leave the table.

July 3, 1919
2:13 PM

“And she hasn’t said a word?”

“No, not a single thing,” Eleanor replied, one arm wrapped in performed concern over Kate’s—Kathryn…she was Kathryn now; she must remember—shoulder. The little girl was pressed carefully into the woman’s side in a display of affection that masked the hidden layers of control. The narrative was carefully curated. Eleanor insisted there was no trauma, that she’d taken very good care of her all her life, that Kathryn used to be a vibrant little girl but came home from the park one day silent and subdued.

Ellie had crafted the portrait of a former governess who used to take care of her. She’d spun a tale of the woman’s attentiveness and how neither her nor George could ever had thought the woman would hurt her, yet what choice did they have but to believe? They’d fired her, of course, the moment they connected the dots, but their precious daughter had never returned.

Kathryn listened to the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall, counting out the minutes she couldn’t see because of the way Ellie held her down, her face all but pressed into the woman’s breasts.

Her ‘father’ sat in his own silence, making a suspect of himself with his reticence. His detached demeanor painted a picture Mrs. Rhodes thought she could clearly see.

An abusive father, a family cover up while a little girl continued to suffer, perhaps for years. The dynamic of the three sat before her in the comfort of their living room was enough to throw even the best trained bloodhounds off the scent. She could tell there was something …not right, but the truth of it all remained elusive.

“Kathryn,” Mrs. Rhodes coaxed softly. “This is a safe place. Nothing bad can ever happen to you here. Would you like to tell us what happened, sweetheart?”

Silence.

“That’s okay, too,” the woman said, her eyes flickering momentarily in George’s direction with the sort of conviction that had the man raising one perfectly sculpted brow. “Maybe we can ask your parents to step out for a moment then try again."

Ellie’s hold tightened at once. “Excuse me?”

The therapist sighed. “Sometimes children have a hard time expressing themselves when they feel they’re still being watched. I only need 15 minutes—”

“My daughter doesn’t speak. What part of that was unclear to you?" her ‘mother’ asked. “We hired you to fix it.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Why not. I know she speaks. Aren’t you meant to have strategies and advice? They said you were the best at this.”

And the garden party was coming up. Despite their best efforts, Kathryn Longe remained as silent as a crypt. She took her meals, her lessons, her walks in silence, giving no inclination that she may be on the cusp of speaking. It couldn’t be allowed to continue. Her mother couldn’t afford to invite the upper echelon to her estate for them to discover the strange little girl that haunted its halls.

She needed her smiling and playing like a normal child, she needed her talking. Eleanor didn’t need the little girl suddenly rambling, but she expected her to speak when spoken to and as of yet, that condition hadn’t been met. Even her governess was beginning to complain. She found it difficult to conduct classes when the girl neither asked questions nor gave indication she was following along.

“Each child is an individual and without knowing the full story,” again, her eyes found George, “it will be more difficult helping Kathryn recover.” Mrs. Rhodes leaned forward, taking Ellie by the hand this time. “If there’s any more you could tell me, even a little more to help me get a more comprehensive picture.”

Her ‘mother’ recoiled from the woman’s gentle touch, as confused as she was annoyed.

“I’ve already told you what happened.”

“Have you?” the woman pressed gently. “For your daughter’s sake, we can’t afford to withhold anything.”

Eleanor took a deep breath, trying to ground herself against the rising tide of frustration that threatened to swallow her. “Evidently we’ve wasted our time.” She kissed Kathryn atop her head, as if offering up an apology on the therapist’s behalf. “We’ll find someone else.”

It was a subtle threat but an effective one.

Mrs. Rhodes could see that, despite whatever cock and bull story had been given out, the little girl was in real distress. It didn’t manifest in loud screams and destructive behaviour but instead with the hollowness within the little girl’s blue eyes and the lack of engagement. Kathryn appeared incurious, passive…unlike a typical girl of her age. She looked to neither parent for comfort, seeming to be sequestered off in her own little world where she couldn’t be harmed any further.

It was a desperate cry for help and Mrs. Rhodes worried that if she left, they would find someone more willing to prescribe medication or extreme methods without digging deep enough to get to the core. In some ways, she felt Kathryn needed her. The woman gave her own resigned sigh.

“Can she write well?”

July 6, 1919
7:04 PM

Kathryn was withering. She didn’t droop like a flower unable to sustain its structure anymore. Rather, she dried and hardened in place; erect, unbowed, unbent. It had been days since she’d last been offered food, the little girl stuck in a battle of wills that she was losing.

The therapist had suggested Kathryn be allowed to write whatever she’d like to say in a notebook, a compromise that allowed her to speak without relinquishing her silence. It hadn’t made her ‘mother’ happy. The little girl could tell from the moment Baxter had fetched a new notebook from the study that Eleanor Longe was simmering beneath the surface. She hadn’t been looking for compromise, only compliance. She had expected to leave the living room with a child that never shut up and a sense of accomplishment at having fixed another mess.

There was a real and dangerous anger bubbling up inside the woman when she asked whether Kathryn was ready for dinner, and the girl offered up little more than a neatly crafted, cursive Yes.

It had set her off so greatly that her ‘mother’ set the book on fire there in the kitchen and had ordered her to her room until she was ready to ‘grow up and talk’.

Her governess had been told not to come in order to avoid any discomfort she may feel in the presence of a starving child. Eleanor couldn’t afford for anyone to take pity on what she considered to be an obstinate child. For that reason, she was prohibited from leaving her room except to go to the bathroom, and when she went, she was watched by the house elf, who was also given strict orders not to feed her.

Baxter looked the other way whenever she drank from the faucet, but he dared not do anything more in case he should earn himself the ire of the mistress of the estate.

Despite the orders given, Kathryn still rose promptly at 6:30 AM each morning, dressed, brushed her hair and teeth, and then sat herself at the parlour’s table to sit through the quiet 7:30 – 8:00 AM breakfast period. Though her governess never came, she sat at her study table by the window, changing the subject of her study with each hour on the clock. At 12 PM, she sat herself at the empty parlour table again, stoic in her silent wait for a meal she knew wouldn’t come. At 3 PM, Kathryn walked the length of her room like a child possessed, intent on having her afternoon walk even if it couldn’t be in the gardens.

On the second day, she didn’t walk the length of her room but sat herself by the window looking out at the gardens instead. She didn’t have the energy for pacing, and her headache had been getting worse. The walk from the bed to the window alone had been unpleasant, as her stomach continued to twist and churn, begging to be filled with something that wasn’t bathroom tap water.

The little girl wanted to cry, if only for the cathartic release, but the tears never came. There was a profound emptiness in the place she knew her tears should’ve come from. Not from her eyes, but somewhere beyond what she could see, a cavernous opening in her soul that carried an ache she was aware of but couldn’t feel.

She’d been viscerally dragged back to her earliest days when hunger was her default. Kathryn could remember the sadness that always enveloped her, a perpetual cloud of despair at the thought of another night of sleep on an empty stomach or a day spent pining for even crumbs. Benny had been her saving grace then, always trying to find something for them to survive on. Benny wasn’t there now. No one would save her. The little girl braced against the sorrow she expected to creep into her bones, but she felt…nothing.

That wasn’t true.

She did feel, but it never came from within. Kathryn felt her stomach gnawing away at itself, the spinning in her head, the weakness in her limbs with each passing hour and the pervasive desire to sleep, though she fought it. Everything else was sealed away beyond her reach, her emotions a luxury her body couldn’t afford.

The little girl grimaced at the faint reflection of her face in the window’s glass. The bit of plumpness that had begun to appear in her cheeks was receding, returning her to a gaunter look. Her hands shook beneath their gloved layers, and her vision swivelled whenever she stood. The reflection of her looked on, sharing its own disapproval.

Of her?

Of the situation they’d fallen into?

At 4:37 PM, Kathryn crawled back into the large, four-poster bed with its veils and fluffy pillows. Lost among the stuffed animals she didn’t have the strength to keep throwing off the bed, she slept.

At 5:45 PM, she awoke to a head that spun while she remained lying down. Again, she slept.

At 7:04 PM the knob to her door turned, the sound of its rattling pulling her from a heavy sleep. She didn’t move even when the light from the hall began to stream in, cutting through the darkness that had found her while she slept.

“You’ll spoil her,” came her ‘mother’s’ protest.

Two figures walked into the room, the larger and taller of the two sinking onto the left side of her bed. The other, with its slight frame, remained standing, arms crossed in obvious discontent.

“We can’t have her writing at the party, George. If we give in now, she’ll learn that stubbornness gets her what she wants eventually. Is that the message you want to send?”

“She’s a child.”

“A stubborn child. Look at me,” Ellie said, reaching for the hand he extended to Kathryn and pulling it toward herself instead. Both hands cupped his against her chest. “It’s unpleasant, I know, but …but what choice do we have? Your father will be at the party, your business partners, our friends. We can’t have her insulting them when they try speaking to her. We can’t have her making this all fall apart because she won’t speak when we know she can.”

“Ellie—”

“We’ll get this sorted—now—we will.”

Reaching past him, her ‘mother’ took hold of her by the shoulders, pulling the little girl into an upright position against her pillows. She called on Baxter, who walked in with a slice of macaroni and cheese casserole and thin slices of ham. The woman placed the plate before Kathryn on her bed, but when the little girl reached to take it, the woman caught her hand.

“Ask for it,” she demanded quietly, her gaze in the dark room implying the time for negotiations was behind them.

Blue eyes shifted between the silhouetted pair. Ellie’s hand held hers firmly, and the little energy she had left wouldn’t be enough to simply take the food. Her ‘father’ only stared in his own silence, more interested to see where it would go than in intervening for the moment.

Her mouth began to water in silent mutiny of her resolve, a cold shiver running through her limbs.
When she spoke, it was only one word, barely above a whisper and with a voice hoarse from disuse.

“…Please.”