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Show 3 for dying, for leaving her. She would cry harder. Until her whole world was tears, sobs. She would never forgive him. It felt good to cry. So she cried. A lot. Crying, it seemed, was her natural state during this period of her life. She preferred crying alone, where no one else could see her. Where no one else could share this anger, this bitterness, with her. It was the one thing in the world which was hers. Or she cried in church, with those images surrounding her, where it was acceptable to cry, where no one else would bother her. And then afterwards she felt better. Robbie was, of course, not turning his back on her. He was simply doing what he thought best for her. He loved her. More than any other person in the world. Thinking this, knowing this to be true, she would then forgive him. But it was hard, living as she was with the Bradshaws, the family who had taken her in. The parish priest at her brother's request had arranged it. Actually, she was little more than a live-in maid, whose only compensation was room and board. Room and board: that was not enough for what she did. But what could she do? She did have the hours from when the younger children went to school in the morning until they returned home in the afternoon, to attend school herself. It was the bright part of her day, when she was away from the chores of the house. Sacred Heart was a Catholic high school-Robbie paid the tuition-a demanding school academically. She did not do well. She did not do well at all, for there was never a minute at the house to do homework. This bothered her. She was quicker, she knew, had more |
