This is embarrassing. He looked at the toilet. It’s clean. He turned back toward the door before refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand. I can be at any job interview in two hours if I just get cleaned up.
Michael started pulling several yards of toilet paper from the roll. He began wiping the outer and inner edges of the toilet. He flushed, watching the paper twirl down and thinking it was an appropriate metaphor for his life.
He stared for several seconds, gazing at the still water in the white, round ceramic bowl. It’s clean, it’s clean, he tried to convince himself. He listened intently to hear if anyone was coming. Just go ahead and do it. Yeah, no one will know.
He got down on his knees, pulled back the toilet seat, and removed a plastic bag from his coat filled with some soap he had lifted from a train-station dispenser. Michael let the pink soap slowly drip out from the bag into his right hand. When the bag was almost empty, he leaned his head into the toilet, moistening the top of his head. Yuck.
He quickly soaped up his scalp before plunging the top of his head back into the toilet, cleaning most of the soap away. He furiously pawed at the toilet paper, sending bits and pieces to the ground while drying his hair with gobs of it.
With his hair nearly dry, he leaned back on the toilet and stared at the blue-painted door. He took a deep breath before standing up. Michael opened the door, his eyes catching his reflection in the mirror. Head slumped, he watched the sink catch some of his tears. He quickly looked up and wiped the remaining moisture off his face with his hands.
Michael walked back inside the house, placing his burnt robe in an empty basket just inside the door. He noticed Elizabeth standing on the last rung of the ladder.
“Dad,” Elizabeth said, running over to him, “you showering?”
“Yes,” he said, adding with a laugh, “you got anything to make me smell better?”
“I think I have something like that for you,” Leah interjected from where she stood in the kitchen.
“You have what?”
Leah reached toward a small shelf containing an assortment of bottles. She scanned it briefly, her hand lingering over the one gap in the line before selecting a small, light blue jar. She handed it to Michael.
“This?” he asked. “Didn’t you use this on my feet?”
“This is different. Try it.”
Michael uncorked the bottle and poured the oil into his cupped hand. It was musky but still pleasant smelling. He winked at Elizabeth before rubbing it onto his chest and under his arms.
Then they went upstairs to eat breakfast. The feast included goat cheese, bread, and water. When they were nearly done eating and had already begun cleaning up, Elizabeth smiled at Michael.
“Dad, let’s go see Cassie.”
Michael nodded, looking up at Leah.
“In all the rush this morning I didn’t have time to say my prayers and bathe,” Leah said, taking the last bowls from the floor. “Please excuse me.”
“Okay,” Michael replied. “We’ll be fine.”
Leah went to the back of the house while Elizabeth led Cassie out from behind the gate.
“Say good morning to her, Dad,” she said over the braying of the lamb.
“Ah, hello, Cassie,” he said with a laugh, “can you help us get home?”
“Dad!” Elizabeth said when she noticed his feet were no longer bleeding.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong”—she pointed to his feet—“it looks like everything is right!”
“Yeah, they don’t hurt so much. Leah’s medicine really worked wonders!”
“Okay,” Elizabeth said with reservation. She looked at him for a brief moment. “We can go now then, right?”
“Well, I guess we can.”
Leah walked in with her hair wet, wiping her forehead dry. In the morning sunlight, her light brown hair glistened around her. Michael was enchanted by her and couldn’t help but watch Leah as he continued speaking with Elizabeth.
“Um, we can’t run out right now though . . . we must figure out a plan, you know, the best time to leave.”
While Elizabeth looked at her father suspiciously, Leah selected a bottle of oil from the shelf and started rubbing some on her hands. When she realized Michael was watching her, Leah blushed and retreated upstairs.
“Dad? When are we going to talk? I think we should leave now.”
“We can’t, not right now. We have to make sure that we’re safe, and then we can make an attempt.”
Leah returned downstairs with her hair beautifully plaited down her back. She looked at Michael briefly before heading to the kitchen.
Calling out to her from the courtyard, Michael inquired, “Leah, how’s the ankle? Do you need us to do anything?”
“My ankle is fine,” she said with slight amazement, “but I should get water.”
“I’ll do that,” said Elizabeth, rationalizing that by pitching in with the chores, they would be able to leave sooner.
“No. Let me. It’s too heavy for you.”
“Dad, I’m not a child. I can help.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”
“She’s very strong and hardworking,” Leah interjected.
Michael was silent for a moment. “I guess I’m outvoted. But what about other villagers seeing her and wondering who she is? What about all the soldiers around? Elizabeth, what if that soldier sees you . . . and I’m not there?”
Leah was quiet at first, but then said, “There are so many soldiers, but the soldier you speak of is likely waiting to find you by your tunnel. What are the chances that that soldier will be by the well?”
Leah left them to think about this while she went upstairs, returning with two veils: one white, one black.
“Put this on, no one will notice you.” She handed Elizabeth the white one.
“Okay, Dad?”
“Hmm . . . okay.”
With a jug in each hand, Leah and Elizabeth headed outside into the courtyard and through the gate onto the road. Michael went back upstairs and leaned against the wall, laying his head gently down on Elizabeth’s bedroll.
Leah has such beautiful green eyes. It had been so long since he had had such thoughts of a woman.
Responding to Miss Voet’s call, Michael entered the school, ex-pertly acquiring his visitor pass from the front office. Embarrassed that the ladies knew him by first name, Michael shyly said hello.
“Oh, Michael, is your daughter sick again?” asked Virginia, one of the school secretaries, winking at him.
“Hmm, yes,” he said sheepishly. “Thanks again for your help.”
Waiting in the hallway for the first-grade teacher while Elizabeth sat inside the nurse’s office, Michael wondered if this was the fourth or fifth time he had been summoned to the school. At the beginning of the school year, he would rush up to Woodside Elementary to take Elizabeth to the doctor every time she called home sick. Miraculously, she would get a clean bill of health from the pediatrician and would develop an appetite for cookies and candy by the time they got home. It was obvious to him now that his daughter had become quite calculating: for some reason, he was the carrot and she was holding the string to which it was attached.
“Mr. Stewart,” Miss Voet said, extending her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
He stood up. “Miss Voet.”
“Please call me Melissa.”
She had black hair and brown eyes and wore a pretty black dress with dark brown high-heeled shoes and small hoop earrings. He noticed she wasn’t wearing any rings.
“We have a problem, Mr. Stewart,” she murmured to him.
“Call me Mike.”
She smiled. “Mike, we have an issue with Elizabeth: she’s sick.”
“Really?”
“Not sick the way we normally think about it. She’s homesick. We have to do something about this because she is distracting the class with her groans.”
“Groans?”
“Yes,” Melissa said through a smile. “Your daughter is dramatic. She really wants me to know that she’s unhappy. She grabs her stomach and groans. Some kids laugh, some kids are scared. Either way, it’s a distraction.”