The Misses. I never really thought much of 'er, always whinin', an' glarin' at us, always wearin' the mos' fancy clothes an' prayin' fo' a baby of 'er own. She came inta the house as a stranger, a mean one at that. An' that really all there to it. I hated her, cause of her hate fo' me.
An' if I ever thought of it- I never once woulda thunk that she unhappy. But that the only explanation fo' it all, ain't it? I mean- she walked in as a stranger- to a man with two twin daughters an' a son. An' me- well me an' Mary- were her competition. To get daddy, she gotta hate us.
An' then- then she never have a family of 'er own. She alway a stranger. Forever. Unless she give birth to 'er own son, which is her real prayer every Sunday in Church. An' I prayed fo' her to always stay a stranger.
I sigh, inta my hands, now even mo' confused than ever. I still don' like 'er- 'course not- I mean, who would? She mean, an' evil an' hurtful... But I guess she gotta reason ta be. Now what? Wha' am I supposed to think of 'er now? Should I still hate her, or is that wron'? She don't want her life fo' me... I guess I should be thankful.
She glances over to me, an' I realize that she wishes fo' me to speak. But what on Earth can I say? Sorry- no. I don't think that'll cut it. But, maybe, it too late to say anythin' at all.
"I- I think I'll jus' stick with wha' I got waitin' fo me' at the manor," I say, sorta talkin' bout Lloyd an' sorta... not.
"Oh," she say. She sound somewhat sad, an' disappointed. I feel a bit bad fo' lettin' 'er down- but I jus', I don't want her to get in contact with Thomas. "Sure- that alright. Yeur daddy'll be pleased."
Fo' some reason she don't sound real happy 'bout that fact. Maybe, this whole wantin' me ta be happy thin' is a lie- maybe she jus' wanna upset daddy.
"Yeah- I guess he will."
She take my hand fo' the second time, an' turn me to face her- lookin' like she 'bout to say sompin' real important. She open her mouth an' everythin'- but nothin' come out.
An' then: "You daddy do love ya, you kno'? He mean nothin' bad 'bout it."
An' that it- she turn back to 'er window, an' watch the road silently fo' the rest a the trip. All I can hear are the footstep of the horses, an' my own mind- tellin' me over an' over one thin'. She kno', she kno', she kno'...
An' if I ever thought of it- I never once woulda thunk that she unhappy. But that the only explanation fo' it all, ain't it? I mean- she walked in as a stranger- to a man with two twin daughters an' a son. An' me- well me an' Mary- were her competition. To get daddy, she gotta hate us.
An' then- then she never have a family of 'er own. She alway a stranger. Forever. Unless she give birth to 'er own son, which is her real prayer every Sunday in Church. An' I prayed fo' her to always stay a stranger.
I sigh, inta my hands, now even mo' confused than ever. I still don' like 'er- 'course not- I mean, who would? She mean, an' evil an' hurtful... But I guess she gotta reason ta be. Now what? Wha' am I supposed to think of 'er now? Should I still hate her, or is that wron'? She don't want her life fo' me... I guess I should be thankful.
She glances over to me, an' I realize that she wishes fo' me to speak. But what on Earth can I say? Sorry- no. I don't think that'll cut it. But, maybe, it too late to say anythin' at all.
"I- I think I'll jus' stick with wha' I got waitin' fo me' at the manor," I say, sorta talkin' bout Lloyd an' sorta... not.
"Oh," she say. She sound somewhat sad, an' disappointed. I feel a bit bad fo' lettin' 'er down- but I jus', I don't want her to get in contact with Thomas. "Sure- that alright. Yeur daddy'll be pleased."
Fo' some reason she don't sound real happy 'bout that fact. Maybe, this whole wantin' me ta be happy thin' is a lie- maybe she jus' wanna upset daddy.
"Yeah- I guess he will."
She take my hand fo' the second time, an' turn me to face her- lookin' like she 'bout to say sompin' real important. She open her mouth an' everythin'- but nothin' come out.
An' then: "You daddy do love ya, you kno'? He mean nothin' bad 'bout it."
An' that it- she turn back to 'er window, an' watch the road silently fo' the rest a the trip. All I can hear are the footstep of the horses, an' my own mind- tellin' me over an' over one thin'. She kno', she kno', she kno'...
