Sun Kissed Innsmouth
Part Six
“Wait!” The word wasn’t meant to be a shout, or a command. Felecia was terrified of the man, had been taught to fear and avoid him all her life, but his was the first voice she had heard speaking to her in days. Loneliness and the deprivation of her surroundings left her calling out and conquering her fear, if for only that moment.
The groundskeeper stopped at the edge of the loft and turned. “Yes?”
“Th…thank you, for warning me, and not…beating me.”
The groundskeeper nodded and continued down the ladder. Felecia was hard pressed to get everything stuffed back into her single suitcase, managing the loft stairs with the thing in one hand before she reached the bottom and followed the man’s large boot prints stuck down in the muck. The man was already out in the field beyond when Felecia found herself yelling once again. “Wait!”
The groundskeeper stopped and turned once again, waiting for Felecia to trudge through the muck and the tall grass the goats hadn’t tended to recently. She was out of breath and the furrowed brow of the groundkeeper told her he was nearly out of patience. Choosing words was never a strong suit for Felecia, not at eight, not at ten, and certainly not at twelve. She did better coming from the heart, but that was always easier when most around her were obligated to do what she asked anyway.
“Is there some place else I might stay? Mother mentioned people, um, cousins perhaps that live nearby?”
“Only family you had left were those two bitches up in their castle. Anyone out here caught helping you will wind up catching a beating or being starved off once and for all. You aren’t meant to live out here.”
Crying worked, giving in and surrendering, it was a last ditch move, embarrassing and dehumanizing but it was how most disagreements ended in Rotary house. Felecia fired up the water works and moaned out a plea for help. The groundskeeper didn’t say a word, he only grunted in disgust and turned away, trudging through the tall grass out to the fence line of the grazing pen. The pressed water works turned into the real thing then, Felecia fell in the grass and watched the groundskeeper walk off into the distance. She sat there sobbing until the sun came up bright. Summer wouldn’t last much longer and already it was so cold at night.
Felecia stood in the field and let the sun dry her off, she even greeted the goats as they came out to do their daily grazing, until the groundskeeper’s son came along, nearly as fish faced as his oddly hairy father. “Pa will whip me for certain if the old witch sees you out here while I tend the goats. Get lost.”
The next few nights were spent sleeping at the edge of the tree line near the fence for the grazing pen. A long walk in the mornings to get to the creek for fresh water to drink and wash her hands and face in, a long walk at night to steal milk and eggs that she had no recourse but to crack open and eat raw. On the third day Felecia’s resolve wavered after nearly three weeks living rough. She dared more of the cold creek water and tried to wash parts of herself that hadn’t seen or felt water in a while. She tried to rinse the muck and dirt out of skirt, tried covering the rest of the filth with her travel coat.