around her hips and sits up in the bed to rebutton the top.
“No.” I hit her hands away. “Keep your clothes like I made them. Stop by Papa’s room to make sure he doesn’t need anything then hit the sack.”
Her shoulders slump a little, but she gives me a nod.
“Okay, Mark.” She slips off the bed and pads across the room. Her bare feet make no noise against the wooden floorboards.
When she’s gone, I climb under my covers and flip off my light. Papa will be happy when he sees her. She’ll tell him how good I did with her reward.
I roll over to my side and look out the window at the woods surrounding our house. It’s already too dark to see clear, but the moonlight shines through the tree limbs, calming me into sleep.
It was a good day.
Nicolette sits on the edge of the couch, a book laid open in her lap. She trails the tip of her finger along the words on the page as she reads Charlotte’s Web to me. It’s part of her schooling, to learn to read out loud without stumbling over the words. Papa says it’s so she can read to her children one day without looking silly, but I think he secretly likes being read to.
“What was that word?” I ask when she hesitates. I’m working on the fireplace. A few stones have come loose, and if another falls to the floor, Papa will be disappointed in me—again. My ass and back still ache from the caning he gave me two days ago; I can’t endure that again so soon.
“Uh, sedentary?” Her forehead wrinkles.
“It’s okay, Nicolette. Try the sentence again,” I say, then turn back to work more grout between the stones. She’s doing pretty good, but she’s read this page three times already. She shouldn’t be stumbling like this.
Papa would tell me to encourage her more firmly, but she’s trying so hard. I don’t like making her worry, and if I jump on her back about this, she’s going to be tense.
“I’m glad I’m a sedentary spider,” she says, pausing to look up at me, a wide smile on her face.
“Keep going.”
I scoot over to the other side of the fireplace while she continues reading in the sweet voice that soothes all the aches in my soul. She starts to become more animated, using special voices for each of the characters. I can’t help but smile when she forces her tone down to characterize the pig.
“Elijah.” Papa’s voice stills me. Nicolette stops reading. When I stand up to face him, I firm my jaw. He can’t sense my fear. I have nothing to be afraid of. I’ve already finished all of yesterday’s chores, and I’m halfway through today’s. I’m doing everything he expects of me.
He eyes Nicolette for a moment before sweeping his gaze back to me. “I found this on the back porch.” He holds up his fist, my t-shirt scrunched between his fingers.
I’m not sure what to make of what he’s telling me. I didn’t leave my shirt outside. Is he testing me to see if I’ll argue with him? If I defend myself against an accusation, it could be worse than what happened last time. Plus, Nicolette’s in the room. I can’t let her see him angry with me over something I didn’t do. A man stands up for himself. But sometimes Papa doesn’t mean against him. What’s the right answer here?
“Papa?” Nicolette interrupts quietly from the couch. “I…I’m sorry. I think I may have dropped it when I was bringing in the clothes from the line last night.”
She closes the book and folds her hands on top of it, waiting.
Papa’s eyes narrow on me. It’s my t-shirt. She’s been careless with her chores and dirtied my shirt. He’s going to expect me to take care of this.
I sigh, sending a disappointed glare in her direction. If I let this go, he’ll take over. She can’t be let off the hook for being reckless. It’s disrespectful for her not to take care of my things. I’m one of the men of the house. She’s to be my wife soon. She needs to learn how to be more careful.
But the idea of hurting her makes my stomach sour. When she cries, it makes my insides twist.
“It’s not my shirt," Papa says, his eyes burning through my skin.
“I’m sorry, Elijah.” She moves the book to the coffee table and stands. Splaying her hands against her sides, she brings her pitiful