I was not as repulsed as she, as I should have been. Instead, it seemed vaguely welcoming—instead, I stood there and fought with all my strength the urge to climb inside and lie down.
* * *
? ? ?
EVENING—I couldn’t recall the last time I had sat at the dinner table and taken my evening meal with the rest of the family. Had I ever? My illness had dominated my life for so long, all I could remember were meals in my room, brought to me by alternating members of the family. This made me feel like a burden upon them, a chore to be accomplished. At first, when Ma brought me down, I wasn’t sure even where to sit. There were seven chairs around the large wooden table, six of which had place settings. Had Matilda not nodded towards the chair to her right, the one lacking a setting, I would have continued standing there like a fool in front of my family, observing them.
I took the seat Matilda indicated, and Ma handed me a plate and utensils. My fingers fumbled with the fork. As I glanced around the table, I could tell the others were uneasy as well. My little brother Thomas sat across from me and stared. Every few minutes, his finger would slip into his nose to pick at something I dared not consider, and Matilda delivered him a swift kick under the table. He frowned at her and continued his unholy quest. Ma sat to my right, oblivious to Thomas’s and Matilda’s activities as she was preoccupied with Richard, who was securely fastened into a high chair at her other side. His food had already been served, and Ma attempted to spoon mashed potatoes into his mouth only to watch him spit the pale mound back out and rub it into his lap.
Pa sat opposite Ma on the long end of the table. I don’t think he wanted to draw attention to me; instead, he opted to pretend there was nothing abnormal about my presence. For this, I was grateful. Aside from Thomas’s overt stares, the others attempted to conceal their sense of wonder. On more than one occasion, I caught each of them glancing my way, but nothing was said about it.
Then, however, Thornley mentioned it outright, his bluntness overpowering. I asked him to pass the bread, and he responded with, “Finally gave up on dying to see what was going on in the rest of the world, huh?”
With this, Ma shot him her angriest look. “Your brother has been quite ill, and I think you should be grateful your Uncle Edward restored him to us.”
“I think as long as he is cooped up in that room of his, he is not down here helping with the chores. Seems like he suffers from nothing more than laziness,” Thornley replied.
Pa raised his eyebrows but added nothing to this thorny exchange; instead, he unfolded today’s newspaper and scanned the headlines.
Thornley was only two years my senior, but to me he seemed much older. He was bigger, too, towering over me by at least six inches. While I was slight and thin, his build was bulky due in much part to the work he did to help Ma and Pa around the house. He tended to most of the animals and the yard, toting lumber and such. This made for a strong boy; even at nine years old, he was larger than others his age and he knew it. Thornley was always quick with a jab, whether verbal or physical.
Nanna Ellen appeared with a large stewpot and set it at the center of the table, then began to fill our bowls one at a time, beginning with Thomas. When she got to mine, Matilda nudged me under the table. I did not peek over at her, though. If Nanna Ellen knew we had been snooping around her room, she said nothing about it. She came in after tending the laundry and proceeded to put away the clothing without even the slightest acknowledgment of our violation. Even when she deposited my laundry in the various drawers of my bureau, she did so without a word. Her head hung low, and her face remained obscured by her scarf.
Nanna Ellen handed me my soup bowl, and I took