“Yes?” Beatrice replied pulling away from her sister. She stayed seated on her lap.
“What if you kept some of your money each week? You could use it for whatever you like. A new shirt or earrings or pencils?”
“No, Clara. You use all of your money for us, and so should I,” Beatrice said.
“But it would make me very happy,” Clara went on, “if you kept a little something for yourself.”
Beatrice looked up at the ceiling as she considered this suggestion. “Well,” she said, “how much should I keep?”
“How about five dollars? Is that too little?” Clara asked.
“No. Five dollars is very fair,” Beatrice replied. “But only after we have the electricity back on.”
“Okay then,” Clara said.
Beatrice climbed off her sister and walked into the kitchen.
“Do you have a lot of homework, Clara?” she called.
“No, why?”
“Do you want to come outside and play with me?” Beatrice asked.
Clara smiled to herself. “Yes I do,” she said as she walked into the kitchen.
Beatrice beamed and flew out the back door, Clara right on her heels.
Chapter 4
Another week passed, and Clara became accustomed to her new routine. She worked nearly every day after school then came home to get dinner started. If they used the wood stove, Clara would go out back to retrieve wood she started piling and keeping in a cool, dry place under the shed overhang. She learned very quickly that damp wood did nothing but smoke and stink up the house. She also learned that recently-cut wood didn’t burn as well as the older, dried out wood. She’d bring the wood in, start the fire, and then open the windows in the kitchen and living room to manage the heat.
Bath time in the evening was a long, tedious process. Clara would fill the tub with cold water from the faucet and then add two or three tea kettlefuls of boiled water. Waiting for the water to boil on the wood stove took forever, and Clara wondered how much longer the process would take when the weather got colder and she needed even more hot water for the baths. She thought the process would go much faster if they boiled water over the fire in the fireplace, but she was not ready to do that. The heat would be intolerable.
One night Clara almost suggested they share the bathwater, each taking turns and then switching out so that it wasn’t the same person who always had to use the dirty water, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask Beatrice. It felt humiliating, and the thought of bathing in Beatrice’s sullied bathwater made her stomach turn.
“How do I wash my hair?” Beatrice had asked the second night they began their bath routine.
“Really, Bea?” Clara replied. “You can’t figure it out?”
“Stop being mean and just tell me,” Beatrice huffed.
“Fine. Lay back in the bath until you get your hair wet. Sit up and wash it, and then run the faucet and rinse your hair underneath of it.”
“But the water is so cold, Clara!” Beatrice complained.
“And what would you have me do about it?” Clara snapped. “That’s your option unless you want dirty hair.”
“What I want is a nice, hot shower!” Beatrice shouted.
“You told me taking hot showers in the summer months was unhealthy,” Clara said. “Remember that?”
Beatrice ignored her as she screamed again, “I want a hot shower! I want a hot shower!”
Clara sprang from the couch and grabbed her sister’s upper arm.
“And what do you think I’m trying to do?!” she yelled back. “Every dime I can spare goes to the bills, Bea! I’m doing the best I can!”
“Get off, Clara! You’re hurting me!” Beatrice cried.
“I’m sorry I can’t fix it fast enough for you! Get used to it, okay? This is our life now!” She released Beatrice’s arm and stomped off to the kitchen. Beatrice followed.
“Then maybe I’ll just run away!” Beatrice said.
Clara laughed derisively. “You do that,” she said hovering over the tea kettle on the wood stove.
“I mean it, Clara. I’m as serious as a heart attack.” Beatrice stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
“And where do you think you’ll go, huh? The minute someone sees you they’ll snatch you up and take you to a foster home,” Clara said. “Or worse, an orphanage.”
Beatrice gasped.
“Do you want to live in an orphanage with other homeless children?”
“Like in Annie?” Beatrice breathed.
“Yeah. Exactly like Annie. Only I hear the women in charge of the homes here are way worse. Is that what you want?” Clara asked.
She felt cruel in her heart knowing she was lying to Beatrice to scare her. She knew Beatrice would never leave her, but just the threat of it filled her with intense fear and loneliness. She could not survive without her sister. There would be no reason to.
She turned to her sister. Beatrice was crying.
“What happened to you not being afraid?” Clara asked gently.
“I’m not afraid,” Beatrice replied. “I just want a hot shower.” She wiped at her face.
Clara smiled. “You’ll have a hot shower soon. I promise.”
Beatrice nodded.
“In the meantime, try to rinse your hair under the faucet. It’s not so bad.”
Beatrice continued to nod.
“And I have a surprise for you,” Clara said. “But I was going to wait until after baths.”
Beatrice tried to appear indifferent, but Clara saw her eyes light up.
“Would you like it now?” Clara asked.
Beatrice thought for a moment. “It may be the only thing in the whole world that will make me happy,” she said dramatically.
Clara chuckled as she made her way to a kitchen cabinet. She dug around the back of the top shelf and pulled out a small box.
“Would you like one?” she asked Beatrice holding up the box.
Beatrice squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh Clara! TastyKakes!”