It seemed as though they had been waiting forever when finally Elizabeth heard the sound of footsteps through the open space of what she could only think was a foyer. The floors were made of hard wood, and the ceilings were high, making the footsteps echo throughout the room with an ominous feeling. A chill went down the little girl's spine, and she tightened her grip on the social worker's hand. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, and she didn't look up even when the footsteps came to a halt directly in front of her.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," said a female voice in a rich, lilting accent. Her shoes were strange, made of some material that Elizabeth didn't recognize. They came up her ankles and had pointed toes with a slightly raised heel. The ten year-old focused on the shoes, struggling to drown out the words that typically passed between the new foster mother and the social worker. She used to listen, before she really understood what they were saying. When she realized that they were talking about her, and the things in her file, she had begun to check out. Mrs. Hodges, in the two times that she had dropped her off so far, seemed to always have more to say than her previous social worker. Miss Lorie had only given the very basic information, but Mrs. Hodges seemed to feel the need to go on about the fact that Lizzie caused problems in the homes in which she had lived in the past, and that Lizzie tended to be overly dramatic about things that weren't especially important. Her feelings had already been hurt once, and now she chose not to listen to the way the social worker spoke about her to people who were, essentially, complete strangers.
Beside her, the social worker shifted, and Lizzie snuck a sideways glance to see that she was looking at her watch, an irritable expression on her face. "I have somewhere else I need to be," she muttered with a shake of her head. "I had hoped that this wouldn't take particularly long. The arrangements were mostly made over the phone and by fax."
"Yes," said the woman with the soft voice and the strange shoes. Lizzie risked raising her eyes slightly so that she could see the legs were tucked into a pair of thick nylon tights and then covered with a skirt that came to just below the knees. She bit her lower lip and held her gaze there as the voice began again. "I'm sorry to hear that you are in such a hurry," she went on. "These transitions can be so difficult for children and it's a shame that you're going to have to simply drop her off and leave her here with me without any real introductions."
A little panic rose in Elizabeth's chest as the social worker released her hand. Immediately she shoved it behind her back and clasped it with the other, struggling to stop the trembling that she felt coming on. Ordinarily she would have shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, but of course it was moving day, and she was wearing a skirt. It wasn't so much that she minded dresses, but more that she found she was comfortable when she could sprawl without worrying that one of the boys would look up her skirt. So far she hadn't seen any other kids in this place, but given how huge the building was, she couldn't imagine that she would be the only child. It had the feel of the group homes she'd heard Jenny and Chad talking about when they thought she wasn't listening. She had heard enough to convince her that she never wanted to get stuck in a place like that. Once a kid wound up in a group home, there was no hope, no family, and if she understood correctly, little to no food.
Lizzie blinked rapidly as she struggled to stop the tears from coming to her eyes or beginning to roll down her cheeks. She gave a little kick at the hard wood beneath her feet, still not lifting her eyes higher than the new woman's knee level. Nobody had explained anything to her, and she wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have been paying attention the entire time. Who was the lady, where were the other kids, and was there a dad this time around? Secretly Lizzie hoped that there was, in spite of everything that she'd gone through. It was easier to get attached to, and therefore hurt by, the women. And as for families, that was never going to happen again, as long as she could help it.
A nudge from beside her brought Lizzie back from her thoughts, and she shot a quick look up at the young blond woman who had brought her to this latest in a long series of foster homes. For a moment her pale brown eyes stung with tears, but she blinked rapidly and took a deep breath, turning her head back down again. "Elizabeth, pick up your bags. Ms. Thomas will show you to your room and get you settled in. I'm afraid I have to be on my way."
Afraid my foot, Lizzie thought bitterly to herself. She shook her head and then quietly stooped to pick up the two plastic grocery bags that held everything she owned. This time around there were three pairs of jeans, two T-shirts and a sweater, along with a single pair of tennis shoes. There had been more, but Mrs. Hodges had only allowed her to pack so much. It was as though there was some unspoken rule that foster children were never allowed to quite have enough of anything.
The breeze nearby changed, and when Lizzie turned to look over her shoulder, Mrs. Hodges was headed out the front door of the house, beating a rapid pace to get as far away from her as possible. The ten-year-old sighed and looked back down at the floor. Her thumb gently stroked the smooth plastic handle of one of the bags as she waited for her next set of instructions.
"How about we get your things put away and then we can talk about the rules over supper tonight?"
Lizzie's stomach did a little pitch. She never had an appetite on moving day, and yet the parents always seemed to expect her to eat something (anything!). This was the stage of the program where the foster parents expected to be able to pretend like she was really part of the family, and seemed to expect her to "get with the program." Lizzie had already committed herself to keeping her distance from any new parents or new kids. She would keep to herself and nobody could hurt her, not ever again. When she was old enough, she would leave, get emancipated or run away if that was what it took.
"Are you coming?"
It took the little girl a moment to realize that the woman, whose face she had yet to see, had walked several feet away from her. Without considering what she was doing, she glanced up only long enough to see that the lady had a thick, auburn braid running down her back and green eyes with a soft, kind expression. Her heart wrenched, and she looked down again, watching her feet as she slowly followed behind the woman. Once she nearly ran into the back of the lady, right at the bottom of the steps that she assumed would lead to the second floor where everybody slept.
"It's only you and me for now," the woman said in her soft, lilting voice. The sharp sound of breath being taken in told Lizzie that she was considering saying something else, but the words never came, and the girl didn't question her new foster mother.
Lizzie almost walked right past the woman when she stopped to push open a door near the top of the stairs. The change in atmosphere told Lizzie that she should think about going into the room, and after a moment's hesitation, she went inside. The woman with the red hair and the strange accent followed her inside. For a moment there was silence, and Lizzie got the impression that the woman wanted her to say something, to comment on the quality of the room. She was about to open her mouth when the woman spoke instead. "Mrs. Hodges doesn't know that the Vardens sent your things along," she said in a soft voice. "I think we agreed that it might be best not to tell her, considering that they were under the impression that you were only to have two bags. It was a good thing they called me," she said.
For what felt like a long time, Lizzie could only continue to stare down at the soft green rug beneath her feet. Like the other areas of the house that she had seen, the room was floored with hard wood. The rug was only an accent, and Lizzie immediately realized how easy it would be to change this room for the next little boy or girl when the time came for her to move out of it. Her cheeks became hot, and she struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. This was not a time for tears. Lizzie was sure she had already cried enough tears to last her throughout the rest of her lifetime.
"Well?" the woman asked. "What do you think?"
With a great deal of effort, Lizzie finally raised her eyes and looked around the room. The bed was spread out with a pale pink comforter with matching shams at the head. It was wider than what she was accustomed to, and it looked as though it was probably comfortable. Between the two pillows was a large, overstuffed teddy bear that she recognized immediately, and she couldn't stop the choked, strangled sound from escaping from her throat. It took every bit of restraint that the little girl had to stop herself from throwing herself on the stuffed animal and holding it close to her.
"The curtains are new. I picked them out myself," the lady was saying. But Lizzie's head was swimming, and she found it difficult to concentrate on the little accents around the room. Instead, she clenched her small hands into tight fists and forced her gaze upward until she met the soft green eyes of the woman who was now the closest thing she would have to a mother, at least for the time being. The eyes were a light green with amber flecks, and around them there were just the beginnings of laugh lines. Lizzie blinked in surprise. She had never seen such a young-looking woman with those little lines before, and she had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the lady. Instead, she released her fists and allowed the two bags to fall to the ground.
"All of your clothes are here. Jenny... Mrs. Varden... She thought that Mrs. Hodges was being unreasonable by only letting you take a couple of bags. She said she didn't think that it was fair. I could have bought you the things that you needed, but this way they are your things, not something that a stranger put here for you. I hope... I hope that you'll be happy here."
"Yeah," Lizzie said, speaking for the first time. She bit down hard on the sarcasm in her throat and went to look out the window. This place was so strange, with all of the trees everywhere. She was much more accustomed to the city where she had lived for the past eight years, the city where she had gone to the public school, the city where she had mostly been left alone, except when the bad men didn't want to leave her alone. She shuddered, then put her right hand on her left shoulder to comfort herself. "You must be new," she said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"I wouldn't say that," the young woman said from behind her. The springs of the mattress squealed as she sat down and leaned back. "I've had a lot of experience with children. But this will be my first time raising a child. So I guess we're both in for a ride."
Mrs. Hodges hadn't told Lizzie anything. Then again, she had been similarly in the dark when she had gone to live with the Vardens. Maybe Mrs. Hodges thought that new homes were a pleasant surprise, or maybe she thought that Lizzie was too young, too stupid or too immature to really understand what was happening to her. It wasn't as though the social worker ever took the time to talk to Lizzie about how she felt about things, and it had been two years since she had seen the therapist the previous social worker had insisted on. Talking about things made her feel a little bit better, but Mrs. Hodges didn't like bad news. Perhaps that's why she didn't like Elizabeth Moore. Maybe Lizzie, herself, was bad news.
"Well," the woman said after another moment of silence. "I guess that I will leave you to unpack your things and settle in a little bit. I'll call you down for supper when it's time and we'll talk about house rules and other important things," she added. "If you need anything, I will be in the kitchen." And then she was gone.
"Right," Lizzie said to the closed door to the room. "Because I know where the kitchen is, or what your name is, or where the hell I am!" Her voice rose slightly on the last few words, her exasperation growing. It was only the pinch in her palms that told her that she had clenched her hands again, and finally Lizzie let her hands drop to her sides. She took a deep breath, but now that she was alone the tears wouldn't come.
***
"Elizabeth?"
Lizzie bolted up from where she had nodded off on the bed. In her hands was one of the books she had managed to slip in between the folds of her jeans. Mrs. Hodges would never have approved if she'd known that the ten-year-old was bringing it with her, and she'd had to be discreet about it. The cover of the book was slightly torn, and Lizzie felt a twinge of guilt that she wouldn't be able to return the book to the library, for fear of being caught with the contraband. She had been steadily reading through the Babysitters Club Mysteries one at a time, and so far she was enjoying them much more than she was the main series.
Before the door could open, the ten-year-old shoved the book under her pillow and scooted off the bed, smoothing the skirt over her thighs. She still hadn't changed out of the dress in which she had arrived, and suddenly realized that she probably looked rather crumpled. Appearances were important to Jenny Varden, and there was a sort of grim satisfaction in the fact that she wasn't looking her best when the woman with the thick auburn braid opened the door to the room and poked her head inside.
"It's supper time," the lady said in her soft accent.
Lizzie shrugged her shoulders, her eyes finding the mint-colored rug that stood out in such stark contrast against the dark wood of the floor. "Not hungry," she muttered.
"Well come on down anyway," the woman said.
The lady's voice was gentle, and perhaps just a little bit too quiet. Lizzie wondered if anything she said in that accent would have the same soft quality to it. At the same time, the ten-year-old felt compelled to obey the instruction, and she took one last, longing look at her pillow (thinking of the book beneath it) before she headed for the door. This was just the typical new home ritual, where she would be expected to get to know the family, the rules that she would have to live by, and then might be expected to clean up from the meal before going straight to bed.
Lizzie watched her feet carefully as she went down the steps, only raising her head once she needed her sight in order to get her bearings. At the bottom of the steps they turned to the right, then passed two doors before turning right again into the wide open dining room. She thought she remembered Jenny referring to this sort of setup as an "open floor plan" since Jenny was so interested in architecture and interior design. The effect, in this case, was to make the entire house seem even more clinical. There were no cozy, cramped spaces where she could curl up with one of her books, and that made Lizzie feel nervous and uncomfortable.
She stood for a long moment in the middle of the dining room. The table was already set for two, and Lizzie had to dig her nails into her palms again as the reality sunk home that it was only her and the strange woman who still hadn't told her her name. What would she do if there was an emergency, or if something went wrong? Surely Mrs. Hodges wouldn't want to hear from her, and she hardly trusted Jenny enough to call her about anything. Here, in the middle of the woods where nobody would hear her scream, she felt isolated, alone and terribly vulnerable with no protection from other adults or even other children.
"Sit down, Elizabeth," the woman said. "I made some chicken noodle soup in the crock pot today. I'm afraid I'm not the best cook in the world, so I just did something that was easy, and it's still cold enough for comfort food, I think."
The lady was smiling when Lizzie looked up, her eyes creasing around the corners. Her mouth seemed strangely red against the pale skin of her face, though the ten-year-old was fully aware that the woman wasn't wearing any makeup at all. It seemed strange to think that any woman would go around without makeup on. Jenny had put it on every day, and the women before that seemed to wear heaps of it, except for the first. She thought she almost liked the bare-faced look this lady had.
Lizzie shrugged into a seat and shifted slightly as she got comfortable. Her stomach clenched nervously and rolled. She hadn't eaten anything for breakfast or lunch, but even so she couldn't summon a sense of hunger. The aroma of chicken broth and vegetables was wafting in from the next room, and a moment later there was a small bowl in front of her, along with a fist-sized piece of bread. Idly, she toyed with the piece of bread and waited for the lady to sit down at the seat opposite her. The woman bowed her head briefly and then gestured to Lizzie. "Eat, if you're hungry. There's plenty left over. I only know how to cook for a crowd, and we haven't got one."
"Why not?" Lizzie asked, before she could stop herself. In most homes, there were other kids. Usually there were quite a few children in these places, and she had been led to believe that the group homes had a lot of kids.
"Oh," the lady said, laughing in a high pitched, tittering sound. Lizzie glanced up, surprised to see that the laugh didn't reach the green eyes. The woman looked away before the girl did, and Lizzie looked back down at her bowl.
"It's just you and me for now," the lady explained. "Mrs. Hodges was the first social worker who was willing to take a chance on me and my home here," she said. "We're so far out in the woods, and I guess that my thoughts on child-rearing are a bit out of the ordinary, at least by today's standards."
Lizzie snuck a glance up at the woman, and had to bite her lip to prevent herself from saying something sarcastic and nasty. She didn't know what the rules were here, and she would rather just stay out of the lady's way than get herself into trouble. The lady seemed nice, but then again, most of them did on that first night. In one home, all she'd had to do was step a toe out of line before her arm had been broken. This one didn't seem as though she would be prone to violence, but Lizzie didn't think that Mrs. Hodges was up to rescuing her again. It seemed that the ten-year-old tested everything that the social worker believed in.
"You're supposed to be tellin' me about the rules," Lizzie said slowly. This was the part that she was dreading the most. She could remember back before Jenny and Chad, the lists of chores that had to be done every day, the rules about food that always restricted what she was allowed to eat. There were plenty of reasons for her to be nervous, and it only made things worse that she didn't have a proper name to call the woman. She was searching her memory for any clues, and almost didn't catch on when the woman began to speak.
"Mrs. Thomas!" she cried, perhaps a bit too loudly. Lizzie's face split into a grin and she kicked her foot against the leg of the chair. "Mrs. Hodges called you Mrs. Thomas. That's your name, right?"
"Miz Thomas. And you can call me Becky," the lady said. Her face had broken open this time, the tidy row of white teeth showing against the dark lips, the eyes bright with those little lines that made her look somehow softer than anyone that Lizzie had ever met before.
"'Kay," Lizzie said. "'An I'm Lizzie. I don' like Elizabeth." She swallowed back the urge to tell the woman not to call her Betsy either. Only one person had ever called her that in her whole life, and she didn't like to think about him. "Papa called me Lizzie. 'An only Chad ever really called me Elizabeth. I don't wanna talk about Chad."
The smile faded from the woman's face and she nodded her head. "Alright," she said softly. "Then we don't have to talk about Chad. Maybe we can talk about him another time and you can tell me about him and Jenny. I know that they loved you very much."
Lizzie waved the roll in her hand at the auburn-haired lady dismissively. "I don't want to talk about them," she insisted. Her cheeks felt uncomfortably hot, and her heart was beating more rapidly in her chest. Lizzie shoved her left hand under the table so that the woman wouldn't see the tight fist she had formed, and she looked off to her right, staring into the kitchen. "I thought we were gonna talk about the rules," she reminded Becky again. "So talk. I'm listenin'."
When Lizzie looked back, she took note that even the eyebrows were kind of red. Now they were raised, and the green eyes seemed to be appraising Lizzie. She felt strangely warm, and she shifted in her seat, dropping her bread right into her soup bowl and then muttering indistinctly to herself. "What?" she asked, feeling self-conscious about the scrutiny.
"Before I tell you what the rules are, I think that we should talk a bit about the consequences," Becky said. Although her voice was still soft, there was now a firmness to it that told Lizzie she should be listening, and listening hard, to the next few words that came out of the woman's mouth. She caught the spoon halfway down to the bowl and then set it aside, leaning back in her chair and staring hard at the woman. She shrugged, widening her eyes in a way that meant to say "okay, on with it."
The woman sighed and put her own spoon down, leaning back in her chair. "First of all, I want you to know that the reason we have discipline and consequences here is because I care about you and want to make sure that you grow up well. Nobody questions that you --"
"You're talking like there are more than just the two of us here," Lizzie interrupted, rolling her eyes and glancing around the room. "Last time I checked it was only you and me, so you can cut the garbage out. You know I've had a tough life and blah blah blah. You're only going to beat me when I'm bad because you really love and care about me and that's the only way to get through to these stupid foster kids. Blah blah blah. I get it. What are the rules?"
The red in the woman's face, the fixed smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, these were signs to Elizabeth that she had pushed just a bit too far. Her shoulders were stiff, and Lizzie noticed that one of her hands was clenched tightly around her spoon, which had just been dipped into her soup. She recognized that look, and immediately felt the heat rise to her own cheeks. Her hands grasped the edges of her seat, and she stared right back into those green eyes.
"Well," Becky said after a moment. "Since you seem to already know it all, perhaps I don't need to tell you the consequences or the rules. But since I assume that you would prefer to stay out of trouble, I think it might be a good idea for us to share some information. When I'm done speaking, you can tell me your thoughts. Until then, try to be polite and let me finish."
Lizzie opened her mouth to make a retort, but before she could Becky added, "Or if that is too difficult for you, I could simply demonstrate the consequences right now. Whichever you prefer is fine with me."
With a sigh, Lizzie dropped her spoon back into her bowl. She wasn't quite sure how it kept creeping into her hand, or why the soup in the bowl seemed to be disappearing spoonful by spoonful, but she pushed that thought to the side and tried to focus on what Becky was saying. The truth was that she'd rather know the rules and stay out of trouble. A broken arm hurt, and the stripes on her backside from the belt burned. But more than that, her heart ached every time she went from one home to another, and Mrs. Hodges had already warned her that she was becoming hard to place.
After a moment during which Becky could only be determining whether or not Lizzie was going to cooperate, the woman began to speak again. "I've made some rules for a reason," Becky said. Her voice was still strangely soft, and Lizzie thought she heard some sympathy in the quiet tones. "The rules protect you by keeping you safe from yourself and from others, while also keeping others safe from you. And I hope that they will teach you to be a good person who will grow up to be happy."
Lizzie rolled her eyes. What did this lady know about happiness, anyway? She thought she'd been touching it with Jenny and Chad. They'd gotten so close! Mrs. Hodges had told her that she was going to have a forever home, and the next thing she knew, she was in the car coming here. What the hell did "forever home" mean anyway? What changed? What had she done? Whatever she did here it wouldn't matter, because she would never get close to anyone again the way she had become with the Vardens. How could she possibly trust?
"Who are you hiding?" Lizzie asked sharply, making an exaggerated gesture of looking around to identify another person in the room. "You keep talking like there's somebody else here I should be worrying about, but I only see you and me."
The sharp intake of breath told Lizzie that she had pushed the issue just a few steps too far. She dropped her spoon into her empty bowl with a clatter, and shoved the last bit of the shredded bread into her mouth, swallowing without really tasting or chewing. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back, staring in final silence at the woman who she felt was holding her captive.
"It's just you and me for right now," Becky said, her smile disappearing completely now. "But that will change sooner or later," she added. The woman offered up no further information, and Lizzie assumed that before long this huge house would be filled with too many kids, too little adult supervision, and far less money than all of them needed. "And when others come, they will follow the same rules that you and I are going to be following. And they will have the same consequences."
There was a momentary pause, during which the woman composed herself. Her eyes softened as she gazed at Lizzie, and the ten-year-old found herself relaxing a bit. "I don't want to have to make consequences," Becky said. "But if you fight me, or break the rules, there will be discipline. Most of the time you will probably lose some privileges, such as television time or play time. Basically like being grounded. You might have to take on some extra chores, though that will be rare. And if you're really giving me a hard time, then you will be spanked."
The word seemed to hang in the air ominously until Lizzie shrugged her shoulders, rolling her eyes. "So?" she said. None of this was new to her. Chores were pretty standard, and on top of that she was used to not having many privileges in the first place. Clothes were usually hand-me-downs, and the first meal in a new home was inevitably the best. Chicken soup didn't impress Lizzie much, and she wasn't expecting things to get any better as the weeks and months went on. Moreover, she didn't expect to stay in one home for more than a year. So what did any of this matter to her?
"You might also get your mouth washed out with soap, and I don't think that you are at all too old for a time out."
The thought of being put in a corner made Lizzie's stomach clench up. She hadn't eaten much, but the nerves were grinding away on her insides already. She liked to think that punishment didn't ordinarily make her nervous, but there was something about the thought of being humiliated like a small child that made her feel queasy, and perhaps even a bit lightheaded. She blinked rapidly several times and then nodded to Becky.
"Fine, so what are the rules?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended, at first. The nerves were racing back full throttle and her mood was swinging in the other direction so quickly that she felt disoriented. "Never mind. I don't want to know," Lizzie rushed, pushing her chair back so that it went crashing to the floor. She snatched up her bowl and spoon and headed in the direction of what she thought was the kitchen. Her hands were shaking so badly by the time she reached the sink that the bowl nearly broke on the porcelain.
"Elizabeth, calm down," Becky said behind her.
The girl jerked when she felt her elbows grasped, and she pulled away from her new guardian. "Don't touch me," she snapped irritably. "Chores. I'll have chores. And you want me to obey you and respect you and..." The tears were coming too quickly, and Lizzie slowly lowered herself to the kitchen floor, forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly.
"Lizzie, stop and listen to me," Becky said. Her voice was getting lower, coming closer to where Lizzie was crouched on the floor. The pitch was a bit higher, the volume slightly louder than before, and the ten-year-old recognized that Becky was trying to draw her attention. She blinked several times, forcing back the tears, and nodded her head. She felt the hands on her arms, giving a gentle squeeze. The feeling was strange to Lizzie, and she flinched. The woman withdrew and sat down next to her, giving her a moment to just breathe.
"If you're looking for a slave driver, you aren't going to find that here," Becky said softly, her accent picking up slightly with its rich tones. Lizzie turned toward the woman, giving her full attention. "You will have chores. I want us to work as a team so that we can both have the things that we want. When there are more of us, they will be part of the team too. So yes, chores are in the rules. We'll get up at six in the morning to take care of the animals, and then we'll have our breakfast. Your chores might be different from day to day, but you will help me with the animals in the morning every day. You'll be going to a private school until the end of this year, and then I'll be making a decision about what to do about your education after that. I expect you to get a minimum of a C in all of your classes, and to keep your good behavior." There was a brief pause. "Yes, I do expect respect. I also expect you to do what I ask you to do, and to do it without hesitation. You are to be respectful of anyone else who comes through our doors as well. You are not to be violent. Cigarettes, alcohol and illegal drugs are all forbidden. If you have any now, I want to know about it, and you won't get into any kind of trouble," Becky added quickly.
Lizzie shook her head from side to side. She abhorred cigarettes and thought the taste of alcohol was disgusting. She wouldn't even think of anything like that. The rules seemed simple enough. "Okay," she whispered after a moment. "Okay."
For a long moment the pair sat on the floor, until Lizzie's breathing had evened out. Then Becky rose to her feet and extended her hand to the ten-year-old. "Now that we have that out of the way, I think that we do need to address your attitude just a little bit ago, in the dining room."
A cold chill went down Lizzie's spine. She opened her mouth to protest that she hadn't been told the rules yet, but the truth was that every rule Becky had given her was common sense, the same rules that she had been asked to follow in every home, including the Vardens. She cleared her throat, blinked several times, and then put her hand in Becky's, allowing the woman to help pull her to her feet.
"Since you aren't familiar with the chores here, I don't think that extra chores are an option," Becky said. There was nothing thoughtful in her tone, and Lizzie was certain that the woman had already decided on the discipline that was about to be doled out. "You also haven't been given any privileges yet, so there are no privileges for me to remove. I could have you write lines, but frankly I feel that is too time consuming and practically pointless. That leaves me with a mouth soaping or a spanking. Or both," she added immediately.
Lizzie felt her heart sink. Her stomach was churning, and the queasy feeling was back, only worse than before. She had eaten, and there was just enough food on her stomach to leave her feeling horribly uncomfortable. "Please," she whispered softly. "I won't... You can't... I don't like it here," she murmured, surprising even herself. She wanted to go home to the Vardens, home where she felt safe. "Please... I want to go home. Just let me go home!"
The woman crouched down in front of Lizzie, and the girl felt both of her clammy hands being lifted and given a gentle squeeze. "I know you don't want to be here, Lizzie," Becky said in the softest, most sympathetic of voices. "Nobody wants to be where you are right now, sweetheart," she added. "I'd wager you're scared just being here, and that you're lonely. I wouldn't blame you for being angry, either."
Lizzie stared down at the space between them, the area right by her feet. She could see down between Becky's knees, and she chose a small speck on the hard wood floor. There she focused all of her attention, not wanting to give in to the desire to glance up into the woman's eyes. She didn't want to give herself away. It was common sense that she would be frightened when she was in trouble, but she didn't want to talk about those other feelings, the anger that she felt at Chad and Jenny for letting her go so easily or the hurt that churned in her gut whenever she was trying to go to sleep, wondering whether or not anyone would come to get her if she cried out during the night. The past two weeks in temporary care had been the hardest on her. The foster dad was nice enough, but she knew that she was going to be moving on. It was just enough time to get the fear really rolling. She had indulged in every terrifying fantasy based on the horrors of her past, and now she wondered just what this new place really had in store, other than the punishment she would face in just a few moments.
In the silence, Lizzie shifted from one foot to the other. The discomfort was growing rapidly as she developed the sense that Becky was waiting for her to say something, to open up and talk about the things that she had seen and the things that had been done to her. To open up the way that she had done with the Vardens, the couple who had promised her the world and then yanked the rug out from under her so unexpectedly. She would never, ever trust another person that way again. However much she wanted to be loved, she wasn't going to take any chances on anyone.
"Alright," Becky said. Lizzie's hands dropped to her sides and she felt the woman move away from her. The atmosphere shifted as her new guardian stood up and put her hands on her hips. "While it is perfectly alright for you to feel things, including anger and fear and frustration, you still need to treat me and others with respect. Even if Jenny or Chad walked through that door tomorrow, you would need to show them respect, regardless of how you are feeling about them right at this moment. Sarcasm, and all of this bitterness that you've shown me tonight, is disrespectful."
When the pause in conversation grew too long, Lizzie glanced up at the auburn-haired woman who would be taken care of her for the next few weeks, or months. There was no hope for more than a year. Lizzie had already determined that she would move on to the next place sooner or later. There was no point in even giving Becky a chance to get to know her, or the things that went on in her head and heart. Why bother when she would just have to do it all over again with the next family?
But what Lizzie saw in the woman's face surprised her, and her mouth dropped open for just a moment before she forced herself to close it again. She blinked several times up at the woman, who she was sure had tears of her own in her eyes. Lizzie's suspicion was confirmed when Becky wiped at her face and then looked down at her again. The woman let out a breath and then turned her attention back to Lizzie. "I don't want to punish you." She reached up and scratched her head as though trying to figure out the details of what she wanted to say. "This isn't any fun for me. We don't know one another very well, and you have no reason at all to trust me."
"This is going to hurt you more than it is me," Lizzie said. Before she could stop herself, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, turning her head to look away from Becky.
"No," the women replied quickly, sounding surprised at the thought. "Even if I knew you well enough to be hurt in the process of spanking you, Lizzie, I know how much it hurts." She stopped speaking, and Lizzie turned her head to look at her quizzically. "It's something that is difficult to explain, kiddo," Becky said softly. She reached out, and Lizzie only managed to just deflect the touch to her shoulder. Though it was probably meant to be comforting, her stomach was churning with nerves, and Becky was right: Lizzie didn't trust her one bit.
"I don't care what you say," Lizzie said, anger rising in her throat. "If you didn't want to punish me, you wouldn't do it. If you didn't like it, you'd do something else. I'm not stupid, so don't treat me like I am!"
"I never --" Becky's voice cut off, but not before Lizzie could hear the rising sound of anger in the woman's lyrical tone. Lizzie smirked with satisfaction and pressed her back up against the counter of the kitchen, making herself difficult to access for the woman who seemed determined to punish her backside. The action was instinctive, in spite of the fact that on several occasions she had encountered a blow to the face in retaliation.
Instead, Becky seemed quite calm. "Well, I think that we ought to get this over with," she said. "It isn't something that is fun for either of us, but it is very clear to me that it is necessary. I'd rather us know one another a bit better before we begin making judgments of one another's character, but clearly neither of us is ready for that. Unfortunately, that brings us to the necessary spanking," she added quickly. "Let's go into my office and get this over and done with," she added. With that, Becky turned and marched from the room, clearly expecting Lizzie to follow her.
The ten-year-old hesitated only for a moment before trotting along after her guardian. Her palms ached where her fingernails dug into the flesh, and she felt the tears welling in her eyes. Blinking only caused the tears to begin their path down her cheeks. Anger, nerves and confusion battled for supremacy in her belly, and she felt as though she was going to be sick. She didn't know this woman, could only be partially sure of what she wanted, and she was fearful of any punishment, especially after the way that things had gone in several of her foster homes. "I don't like it here," Lizzie muttered again as she came up behind Becky and followed her through the door into the dimly lit office. A light flickered and then came on, and Becky ushered her toward a seat.
"Lizzie, nobody wants to get a spanking, and it must be especially scary to have that happen on your first day in a new place. You had a choice to make. You could have been respectful to me and given me a chance to get to know me, or you could be sarcastic and bitter. Even when you knew you were in trouble, you kept on. Hopefully we won't need to repeat this again," she added.
Becky pulled a chair out of one of the corners and sat down in it. Lizzie stuck her hand immediately behind her back, nervous that the woman was going to try to touch her again. She didn't like the feeling of being touched, and it made her skin crawl to think that she was about to be spanked by a woman that she didn't really know at all. "Don't," she whispered softly, fear pitching into her voice as she took a step back.
"Alright," Becky said in her same soft and gentle voice. "Then you come over here and lay down over my lap on your own."
Lizzie took a deep breath. She could no longer blink back the tears, and the door was closed firmly behind her, so she couldn't turn around and run. Besides, where would she go? Even the Vardens believed in discipline, and they would likely have had the same reaction to her attitude as Becky. Regardless, Lizzie had a difficult time letting go of her feeling that this was all unfair, and that the spanking wasn't deserved. She didn't know the rules in the beginning and it was only her first day in a new place and Becky was being ridiculously unfair! How was Lizzie supposed to know what Becky would perceive as "attitude?"
"You don't have to," she whimpered, even as her feet led her around to Becky's right side. She hesitated, not bending over. She was tall enough that she would just lay evenly over Becky's lap without any real adjustments if she simply bent forward at the waist. She had just made the decision to do it, sucked in a breath and prepared herself to simply bend, when she felt Becky's hand on her waist. Her center of balance altered, she toppled over the woman's lap and was left squirming, gasping for breath. Surprised, she let out a thin cry. "No!"
"You haven't given me a choice," Becky said, sadness around the edges of her soft, lilting tone.
But Lizzie knew that she had a choice. Foster parents weren't supposed to spank the children. She had heard that from one of the mothers, and she suspected that it was one of the early ones, the women who didn't do much to discipline the children. The social workers didn't believe that spanking was a good and effective tool for proper child rearing, and therefore it was mostly frowned upon, if not downright illegal. She opened her mouth to point this out to Becky, but before she could get the words out, the balance was shifting beneath her, and the hem of her skirt was being raised up and smoothed over her back.
"Mrs. Hodges and I had a talk about this. She told me that if you were ever punished this way that you would probably want to call her. I can understand why, and I think that it is a beastly thing that she has shown such frustration with you letting her know that someone has been hurting you. She's there to be on your side, Lizzie. And so am I. Mrs. Hodges is absolutely aware of the way that I feel about discipline, and she supports my punishing you in this way. You can call her when we're done if you like," she added.
Becky's fingertips were cold when the slipped inside the waistband of Lizzie's little white cotton panties and began to tug them down below her bottom. The little girl let out a sob of frustrated fear and shook her head adamantly from side to side. She could think of a few choice words that she would like to say about Mrs. Hodges, but it didn't seem that it would be a good idea to use them in that moment.
"Don't make me do this again," Becky said, even before she started. "I only ask that you treat me and others in this house -- including guests -- with respect. Hopefully the next time you're in trouble we can find another, better, way to resolve our differences. I hated being spanked when I was growing up and I hate to have to make you feel the way that it used to make me feel. I imagine that it's even worse when it's someone you don't even know, and I'm very sorry that it has to be this way," she added.
It seemed that there was an awful lot of talk. Lizzie was waiting for the next part of the lecture when the spanking began, taking her by surprise. She had gotten the impression earlier that Becky had never had children, and therefore had never spanked children before. But that couldn't be right! The hand that was smacking down firmly on her backside was clearly experienced, and knew how to do the damage necessary to bring a child to contrite tears.
Lizzie let out a small cry of pain, but before she could even begin to twist her way out of range, Becky's small palm was smacking down again and again on her small, tender backside. "No!" she cried, twisting away and throwing her right hand back to protect her bottom from the onslaught. Becky quickly pushed the offending limb out of her way and continued with the spanking.
Just looking at the size of the short, slender woman, Lizzie never would have thought that she would be so capable of lighting such a fire in her backside. Within moments, she was certain that she would never again intentionally push Becky's buttons, and that if she managed to hit one of them by mistake, she would be sure to apologize instantly! It was only a minute or so before she was sobbing and gasping for breath over Becky's knee.
"I know that this hurts," Becky was saying from somewhere above her. Lizzie's head was swimming and it was difficult for her to catch on to all of the words. "It has to hurt if it is going to make any kind of an impression on you," she added.
"I'm sorry!" Lizzie cried. Her left hand balled into a fist, and her right hand reached for, and grabbed, the leg of the chair in which Becky sat. "Please stop! I'm sorry!" She was sobbing hard, and her legs still kicked out behind her with every hard smack of Becky's palm. Her bottom felt as though it might soon catch fire, but still the spanking continued.
It wasn't until Lizzie lay, entirely defeated, over Becky's lap that the spanking finally stopped. The child was beyond words, nearly beyond comprehension, and it took her several seconds to realize that the spanking was over. In pain, she rolled off of Becky's lap and clutched her backside between her fingers, gripping it tightly as she wiggled the rest of the way out of her panties. She wouldn't be wanting them now anyway, and she was nearly certain that she would be sent straight to bed.
Before Lizzie could catch her breath and push herself to her feet, she felt Becky's hand under her elbow gently lifting her to her feet and helping to steady her. "Lizzie, slow down," Becky said in that gentle way of hers. The little girl cast a worried sidelong glance in her direction and then lowered her eyes to the floor again, wiping her dripping nose on the sleeve of her dress. "Slow down," Becky repeated.
Lizzie didn't jerk away from the woman, even though the hands made her feel creepy. It was hard to imagine how they could be so hard one moment and so soft and gentle in the next. Her skin was crawling, and finally she pulled away and reached back to rub her burning backside again. She felt uncomfortable, as though she was waiting for an instruction that didn't come, and when she met Becky's gaze finally head-on, she thought she recognized a similar expression in the woman's eyes. The look seemed to say "what now" and Lizzie couldn't help but let out a choked little laugh.
The quizzical look on Becky's face made the laughter bubble up from somewhere deeper, and Lizzie shook her head, holding a hand up until she could catch her breath again. "But really, this is where you are supposed to send me to my room or stick me in the corner or put me to bed or something like that. That's what..." she stopped herself as fresh tears bloomed in her eyes. Shrugging her shoulders, Lizzie turned away.
"Well, I don't think that's necessary right now, do you?" Becky said. Lizzie felt the woman put her arm around her shoulder, and for a moment she felt the inclination to turn into the maternal affection and sob against the woman's chest. It would have felt good, but she wasn't Jenny, and was never going to be Jenny. There would never be another one like Jenny or another one like Chad, and there was nothing that Lizzie could do to stop the grief that choked in her chest.
"I think I'd like to go to my room," Lizzie said quietly, her voice breaking. "I'm tired," she added in a near-whisper.
"Do you want me to come up with you?" Becky asked gently. "I can tuck you in if you want. Or if you want some privacy, that's okay, too. Do you know where the bathroom is?"
Lizzie sniffled and nodded her head, solemn once again. "I found it earlier, and there's a toothbrush there. Mine?"
Becky nodded her head, and Lizzie turned to go. She was at the door when Becky's voice stopped her. "Lizzie, let me know if you need anything, okay? Even if you just want somebody to talk to."
"I don't," the ten-year-old said, and dashed from the office, rushing for her own room so that she could curl up with the book she had stashed under her pillow.
