Chapter 36
When I wake up, I'm in the hospital. I moan in piercing, unrelenting pain. I can't move. Is all of me broken? I ask myself. Every part of me throbs.
The nurse in the room reads my mind. "Don't worry, Monica. Nothing is broken. You've got quiet a few things sprained though."
I stare at her and sigh at my predicament. I'm glad she's the nurse taking care of me. Doctor Eckhold has eight wives, all nurses he's trained himself, and Nurse Greta is the nicest one.
The Mister comes barreling in the door. "Is she awake?" he asks as he makes it to my bedside.
"She just woke up, Master Barstowe."
"Are you okay, Monica?"
Am I okay after you nearly killed me?!!! I want to yell at him. What kind of an idiot are you?
"I don't think she can speak yet," Nurse Greta states.
I make gestures as if I can't form words. I can, but I'd rather not speak to the cruel beast.
"Why can't she talk?" he asks.
"Sometimes patients are so traumatized, Master Barstowe, that they lose their voices."
"Traumatized?" he snorts. "Over what?"
Nurse Greta quietly stares at him. Because you knocked the blazes out of her, her eyes seem to say, but she quickly shuts them off. I can see she's searching for the right words to not anger him. "Her body throbs with pain everywhere, Master Barstowe."
"Little Bird, I'm sorry you're here," he says in an agonized voice," But . . . but . . . you forced me to do this to you. If you had only taken care of your duties like you're supposed to, I wouldn't have had to discipline you. Why, oh why, didn't you do your chores?!" He beats his chest as if not being able to comprehend. "You left last night without having cleaned the floors!"
When I had left, they were so clean that you could eat off of them. Betsey had probably made the wives go outside for prayers again and trample mud back in. I frown on the inside. She was certainly getting her revenge.
"You forced me to hit you, Monica! You did it to yourself!" His eyes tear up and water starts flowing out. Wiping his face with his sleeves, he says, "You see what you do to me, Little Bird? You make a marshmallow out of me."
I wish you were a marshmallow when you were beating me nearly to death.
"Master Barstowe," the nurse says quietly, "the patient needs to rest."
"Yes, of course," he says, wiping some more tears with a tissue next to my bed. "Before I leave, I want you to know, Little Bird, that I forgive you. I'm sure your sloth will never be repeated again. I forgive you for making me discipline you. I forgive your lack of consideration for me. I forgive you for the agony I'm feeling right now. I forgive you, Little Bird. Now rest easy."
Furious adrenaline flows through me. Jerk!!! Monster!!! Evil creature!!! I had almost grabbed the club from his hands when he was beating me but had thought about the last girl who had done that to her Master. She had ended up in the isolation room for a week without food or water. Then she was taken, almost unconscious, to the sanctum where the Elders and her Master had beaten her to death with their clubs. We were forced to watch to see what can happen to those who fight back.
"Get some rest, Monica," Nurse Greta tells me as she injects liquid into my I.V.
It doesn't take long for me to black out. I dream of my mother telling me she loves me over and over again.
When I wake up, a familiar face is staring at me. His eyes are fixed on me as if he can't tear them away.
"Hi, Miguel," I mumble.
"How are you?' he asks anxiously.
My eyes dart to the door. It's closed. It's safe to talk.
"Terrible," I answer back.
With moist eyes, he caresses my face--the only part of me that's not bruised. I should tell him not to do it. I'm terrified that someone might come in and catch his hand on my person, but I don't say anything. Instead, I allow his gentile fingers to stay on me. It's the first time we've touched.
"I'm so sorry about what happened to you," he blurts furiously, taking his hand away from my face and forming a fist. "I feel like beating Barstowe until he can't walk anymore, until he begs for mercy, until--"
"Stop," I tell him. "You can't do that so you might as well keep those thoughts away from yourself."
"But--"
"But nothing. We have to be smart about this. We can't commit suicide by hurting the Masters."
He breathes out a long strain of air. "You're right."
"Now, Miguel, as much as I like having you here, I'm worried that you might get in trouble. You should leave."
"Don't worry. Barstowe told me to come and check on you."
"Really?" I ask incredulously. He puts me here, and then he wants to make certain I'm okay. The irony is not lost on me.
"He wants to make sure you're being treated well." His own voice is rife with sarcasm.
"Isn't that nice of him?" I snap.
"He's a wonderful guy," Miguel snickers. "Just all around wonderful."
When I finally get out of the hospital after almost a week, I'm still limping and hurting, but the doctor forces me out. He says it's time to go back to my chores. The girls at the slave quarters can't be nicer and do my work there. Even Helga is being nice as she orders me to my bunk for rest.
What they can't help me with, though, are my chores at the Barstowe house. I wince when I arrive there, not knowing what to expect. The Mister greets me with an enormous smile, and he has all the wives lightly hug me. I cringe when Betsey puts her arms around me.
"Welcome back," she says with her mouth but her eyes bore into me with the promise.
The revenge isn't over with. Not just yet,
I start my chores by stepping into the kitchen as Master Barstowe goes to his study, and the family-wives follow Betsey who says they've got important matters to attend to. As I wash dishes, I think about the house being too quiet. Something's up, I tell myself with unease. I can feel it.
When I step out of the kitchen to finish my chores, the floor is caked with mud. I hear the door to the Mister's study open.
Uh-oh.