Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“We wear shoes at the dining table in this house,” she says between clenched teeth and low enough in tone that only I can hear her.
I glance down at my toes and then back at her, embarrassed I’ve clearly displeased her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to the slippers the police gave us. When I got out of the shower last night, everything was gone.”
“Christopher had everything thrown away. I can’t say I blame him. He’ll want to forget every part of his horrible ordeal, and I’ll do my best to make sure he can.”
So, if she knows my shoes were thrown away, why would she question that I don’t have any shoes on?
Ms. Evans enters the dining room with two plates of breakfast. “I wasn’t sure how you took your eggs, so I made omelets just to be safe for today.”
“What size shoe do you wear?” Mrs. Davenport asks, still towering over me.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I didn’t wear shoes before.”
Her mouth opens wide, her eyes even wider. “What do you mean? You never wore a pair of shoes in your life?”
I steal a glance at Ms. Evans, who just stands motionless with the plates in her hands. I then look at Mrs. Davenport, resentful that I have to discuss this memory that I’d rather not. “Papa Rich didn’t allow me to wear shoes.”
“You poor girl,” Ms. Evans says softly as she places the plates of food in front of me and Christopher’s chair.
Mrs. Davenport clutches her neck for a moment and then gently massages the skin. “Well… Ms. Evans, can you go upstairs and try to find a pair of shoes that might fit her of mine. Her foot doesn’t look too different than my own.” She looks at the dress I’m wearing. “My dress seems to fit you fine enough.”
I nod, looking at the pale pink dress, and force a smile. “Thank you. It fits perfectly.”
When I got dressed this morning in the dress and walked out of the bathroom to Christopher, his nose wrinkled, and he told me that we would need to get me my own clothes immediately. He obviously didn’t like seeing me in his mother’s clothing. I wonder what he will think seeing me wear her shoes.
“I think you should follow Ms. Evans upstairs to receive the shoes,” she continues. When I look at my breakfast, she says, “Your meal will still be here when you return. Plus, it would be rude to eat before Christopher returns to the table.”
Her tone of voice reminds me of Papa Rich’s when he feels I don’t do something Godly. I know better than to ever question that tone.
Without saying another word, I scoot my chair out, stand up, and follow Ms. Evans up the stairs barefoot. I can almost feel Mrs. Davenport’s stare singeing the flesh on my back.
Mrs. Davenport’s foot is a little bigger than mine, but not by much. Ms. Evans finds a pair that she feels will do. “This pair is a bit smaller,” she says. “Mrs. Davenport will suffer for style and squeeze her feet into shoes that are a bit too small if she has to. Lucky for you.”
I reach for the black heels and wonder if they will be considered too fancy, but I also know I don’t have a choice. And looking around Mrs. Davenport’s closet—which is as large as a bedroom—I don’t see any simple shoes or boots. Everything seems so… expensive and luxurious.
“I’m sorry I didn’t help with breakfast,” I say, feeling the need to apologize regardless of what Christopher said. The woman seems so kind, and I want her to know how I feel.
“Sorry? Why would you say such a thing? There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“I did all the cooking before. Before….”
The smile and cheery disposition she had seem to melt off her face. A sadness appears to wash over her. “I understand how all this has to be really scary and different. It’s a completely different world you’re now in.”
Tears prickle the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to allow them to surface.
“I can’t imagine what you and Christopher went through.” She waits for me to place the shoes on my feet and then helps me find my balance as I wobble on the heels. “Is what they’re saying on the news true? Where you kidnapped as a child and forced to live hidden in a schoolhouse, never to see another soul?”
I take a cautious step and then another. “I never saw it that way growing up.” I take another step and worry I may twist my ankle if I’m not careful. “Papa Rich was my family.”
“He sounds like a very sick and demented man.”
I wonder what the news is saying about him. What are they saying about me?