Tears of a Bluebird

Chapter Two

As I listened to the low, relentless voices of mother and the small woman exchanging words, I stared intensely at a heavy looking vase that was in front of the window. Squinting my eyes, I saw that there was a horse whip pouring over the china plated rim, along with some black and red rosary beads. Ah, ha! I sneered to myself; that explained the chapel next door. What better way for mother to punish me than to send me to be condemned inside, what I guessed to be, a Priest's home. She had left me in the hands of God, like she threatened to do to me at the beginning of my pregnancy. After all, her last words to me before I went into labour were, God deals with the wicked in the same way he deals with all those who sin. God will make no exception to you, Molly Taylor! In time you will get your comeuppance, just you wait, Madame.

"Girl go and prepare some tea for your mother!" The woman started. "She's had a long journey."

My mouth fell into an elongated O shape. It was like she was testing my capability skills. I stared at the small and thin woman, analysing her quite a lot. She could have been described as being a beautiful woman, though she was no spring chicken, around mid-forties I'd have said, Her hair was like black plaster by way it was drawn back from her face and clipped into a firm bun at the nape of her neck. The way she pulled back her hair had seemingly pulled back the skin away from her face and stretched her cheek bones even wider than what they already were.

"Yes, Mistress." I said, my lips twirling up into a slightly derisive smile. Before I went into the kitchen, I heard the woman mutter to mother that now she knew what mother meant, saying, "I see what you mean"

Groaning, I stepped into the kitchen. It was an overly spacious room, about the same size of the living-room. The kitchen had some bunkers linking together, with all the average kitchen facilities. Her kitchen was no homely one though; old cook back home used to tell me that the kitchen was always the heart of ones house. This kitchen was definitely not the heart of this house. (I was in the latter to find out that my new mistress had no heart for that matter.) This kitchen was dirty, but not cleanliness wise. The only light being drawn into the room was from a huge window which stood above the sink, layered with white curtains. In the middle of the kitchen there I saw a long and wide dining table that had six empty, silhouetting chairs. I walked down three steps, through the walk-in cupboard, and entered the scullery. And, like any other scullery, it was about medium size and had a sink also, which, of course, was used to peel potatoes and such. A scullery was nothing new to me. I used to hide in mine back home with Zackary's father while the cook tossed us things to peel or dice. It was during those times when cook taught me how to prepare food myself.

Eventually I found the kettle. It wasn't in the scullery like I had quite foolishly predicted. It was on a shelf inside the walk-in cupboard which lead down to the scullery, right beneath the larder.

The kettle whistled like a train arriving at his destination. Dutifully I collected it, poured the water over the teabag, but before I could even pick the mug up, mother stalked into the clearing of the kitchen, halting near the table and the woman froze behind her, holding her concentration together with her folded arms. What now?

It seemed to be a full two minutes until anybody spoke, but before that happened, mother and I stared at each other very powerfully for a while. Like always, mother stared at me in clear disgust. It was that identifiable look of hers which triggered off my insanity from within me. At any minute I was going to explode, and my lips were going to part and I was going to say something that I had been holding back on for eight whole months. It was quite strange though, for about eight minutes ago, I had almost been terrified by these two women, but then mother finally spoke. No longer was I going to bite my tongue. I was not the compliant little girl she always took granted for.