Her eye was a dark shade of purple, and stuck out obtrusively in a sea of people. It looked like a festering sore with a yellow tinge around the outside. The story behind Sandra Keating's injury would be too hard to communicate, let alone dwell on, so the immediate response to any questioning individuals would be to dismiss them, and prove to them that nothing had changed significantly by acting the same. Her arm ached as she pulled on her work dress for the day. She attempted to keep her attention away from the fresh injuries she'd acquired the night before, and partially succeeded by pouring her coffee into a bland cup and proceeding to sip on it.
The violent passions she'd endured the previous night had shaken her, and just the fact that it had shaken her up frazzled her more. It was such a rare occurrence. Her uncle's swinging arms were threatening enough to her wellbeing, but because he had held a beer bottle at the time, the damage was magnified. Memories of that night filled her head and made an immediate tightness seize up her whole body. She had tried her best to avoid being hit, but failed – ending up getting hit on her head and receiving a huge gash across her arm. Sandra dropped her coffee cup in a moment of clumsiness and panic.
Work wasn't a great deal better. Sandra knew that she wasn't doing an amazing job at hiding her ailments from her employees. She could tell because of the continuous stares she was subjected to. They were probably wondering why their boss had gotten all timid and quiet. It was the strangest thing, but Mrs Keating could not for the life of her find that cynical, demeaning side of her after her night of horrors. Her thoughts were all-consuming – rapidly and ruthlessly invading the brain space she kept for everyday human functions. Of course, her Uncle Kendrick and his friend Killian were far from respectful house-guests, but that would never make her believe that physical abuse was a possible outcome of the living situation.
"Mrs Keating, we have a new family requiring our services. I just thought I should let you know," Adaline Branson said.
"Yes, thank you." Though Adaline didn't miss the yelling in the slightest, the absence of this made her very much concerned. Her cause of concern confuddled her. She hadn't realised that over the past few weeks, her dislike of Sandra had lessened and lessened.
"Mrs Keating, I can't help but notice something's wrong. I know we're not close, and I wouldn't expect you to confide in me, but I'm here if you ever need to speak with someone. You can rest assured that I would only ever keep it between us."
"What are you talking about? I knew you were a silly girl, but probably never the extent until now. Just do your work as you're supposed to, and stop trying to pry," Sandra said. A fleeting vulnerable feeling gave her the appearance of normality she needed to portray. Everyone returned to scrubbing clothing on wooden boards and wringing them out.
Adaline – slightly disheartened - followed suit of the rest. She peered back at Sandra later as she was folding an elderly lady's pinafore for her to pick it up that morning. The black eye was an obvious malady, but when Sandra reached up to a high shelf to retrieve another block of soap for washing, Adaline knew her situation had to be a serious one. A deep-seated determination resided in her for the rest of the day. She knew she couldn't erase what she had seen, and must confront Sandra again. Of course, her pride couldn't handle another public rejection, so she chose to broach the subject after the working day.
All wash women walked out the door to go to lunch, leaving the last two and awkward tension inside the building. Mrs Keating suspiciously eyed Adaline, and kept flicking her eyes over to the woman while preparing to have her break as well. After approximately a couple of minutes of this, Sandra couldn't take it any longer.
"Miss Branson, do you need something?" she asked.
"I need to talk to you. About those marks you have on your arm and eye. I know you don't enjoy my company – for what reason I'm not sure – but I'd be doing a disserve to you if I ignored it." Sandra was quiet for a stretch of time, crossed her arms and looked to the wooden-board flooring.
"I had a bit of an accident, that's all. And you don't deserve any explanations from me," she said eventually. Sandra Keating's hair was in a frazzle, strands escaping from her bun and framing her face.
"I don't believe you." Adaline didn't know what had gotten into her, and why she was deliberately pushing her boss over the edge, waiting for her to fire her or explode.
"Believe whatever you want to."
"If something is going on, you need to tell me. Or someone you trust."
"Then I would tell no-one, because every person is a scumbag with no sense of decency and their own agenda to abide by," she blurted out. Shortly after, she realised she'd basically encouraged Adaline to inquire further into the details.
"I promise I would never tell. Even if I was tempted to, no one would ever trust that anything I said would be true. No one trusts me. I'm sure you've noticed that I don't speak with any of the women working here. I'm asking you to trust me, and believe that I only want to help you." Miss Branson decided to reach out and touch her shoulder to hopefully make her understand she came in peace. They stood there in silence for another long stretch of time before Mrs Keating gave up.
"By confiding in you, I'm not consenting to any friendship between the two of us. Alright, do you remember our conversation on Sunday after Mass?"
Adaline nodded. "You mentioned your uncle and his friend who are living with you."
"Yes. Well, at times they can have a little too much of the bottle. I never complain to them that it changes them for the worse, especially Uncle Kendrick. I admit that's how these marks have gotten on me. But there's really no point in hoping for anything better or talking it out with you, because it's their escape."
"Their escape? Are they alcoholics?" Adaline asked quietly.
"I believe so. Uncle Kendrick and Killian were soldiers in the front line of the Barracks War. They never tell you what you'll be left with when your men return. It was always about the war effort and not showing anyone you were a coward." She dabbed at the inner corner of her eye.
"Last night was one of the bad nights where Kendrick had his flashbacks. Raving about his war buddies lost in action, and the ones blown up. I-I just didn't know what to do, like usual. I tried to get him to sit down and take his beer bottle away, but-" Her chin and mouth scrunched up uglily and quivered. Her eyes were glistening. Adaline was so uncomfortable, but knew this was where Sandra needed her most. In the midst of her visible torment, where she was exposed.
"I understand. And you don't need to be afraid of crying in front of me. Just let it out if you need to." Courage welled up inside Adaline Branson to make up for the lack of it in her employer.
"He was trying to strike me across the head again, so I blocked it with my arm, but some glass shards decided to stay in my arm. Bit of a painful process pulling them out of me." She chuckled to herself quietly, as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks.
Adaline decided to take the risk and place a hand onto her arm and rub it soothingly. Sandra couldn't make eye contact with her; all the humour was sucked out of the moment.
"I can find a safe shelter for you, Sandra. Just leave it to me," she said.
"No, I'm alright. Really, there's nothing to worry about," Sandra assured.
"But I'm worried about you."
"Well, stop worrying. I need to look after them. They don't know how to cook or clean or do much besides drink and sleep."
"You could force Kendrick and Killian to move somewhere else. Anywhere else," Adaline attempted.
"No other family member of mine wants those two. My aunt – Kendrick's sister-in-law – gossiped to all the family how Kendrick had changed. I was never meant to be housing my uncle and his war friend, it was actually Aunt Belinda's duty. It was all organised before he went off to the Barracks War. But I understand that she has three little ones of her own, and they shouldn't be subjected to his mad behaviour. In a way, I have an obligation to these two soldiers; they defended our lands and I need to do my part." Mrs Keating sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything.
"Sandra, I'm here for you. I want to help you, but I know you won't accept help. But whenever you're ready, you come and tell me and I'll figure out a way to get you out of there." This time her boss did look her in the eyes, and she didn't detect any appearance of scorn.
"Thank you," she replied. Despite what Sandra Keating had stated at the start of their little chat, she sensed that a connection was forging, and that some semblance of trust had emerged.
*****
"I feel the need to be useful, but she won't let me be," Adaline explained to Hiram during her afternoon check-up.
"In the end, it's her decision, Adaline. We have to accept that and wait for her to come to us."
"About that, I did kind of promise her I wouldn't share this information with anyone. I've only told you because I needed to know I was doing the right thing. I knew you'd keep it between us. I just know for certain that your moral compass is point due North, and I needed a second opinion."
"Of course. And I don't think I have to say this, but you know if there's anything I can do for her... or you..."
"Thank you, Hiram. You're a true friend," she smiled sweetly.
"Someone's gotta keep you in line." Behind the laughs and teasing, Adaline was genuinely touched that Hiram would be so eager to help someone he didn't even know. She had gotten so very used to his stern tone and factually-thinking mind that she sometimes forgot this side of him. The compassionate, thoughtful side. And it was a nice reminder that was very welcomed.