Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
David C. McLavic - 12. Chapter 12
Later that evening during supper, Uncle Carl asked us if Mom helped us with our chores. Before I or Carl could answer, Mom got up from the table and ran out the back door.
“Dad, we saw her at the other house.”
I could see Uncle Carl getting mad as he listened to Carl. It didn’t take Uncle Carl to put two and two together.
“So she didn’t help with the chores?”
“No, Dad.”
The look on Uncle Carl’s face told me Mom was going to feel the switch that Uncle Carl had in his hand. But Uncle Carl had something else in mind.
The next morning before Mom had a chance to go to the other house, Uncle Carl grabbed her as she left her room. The yelling woke us up. We quickly dressed, I told Beth Ann to stay in bed and we would come back for her. Dressed we followed Uncle Carl and Mom outside. They headed directly to the chicken yard. With Uncle Carl behind her, she was going to get this morning’s eggs. If she dropped an egg, she got the switch across her buttocks. I counted five times. With the eggs gathered, they headed for the barn. What surprised me was that Mom knew how to milk the cows
Carl and I headed to take care of Sir Galahad. I felt sorry for Mom but Uncle Carl showed no mercy. I assumed the hatred Uncle Carl had for Mom was beyond reason. Whatever Mom did when they were growing up left a lot of hatred in Uncle Carl for Mom.
Breakfast that morning was very quiet. Mom had to help Aunt Martha to serve, although she stayed away from Uncle Carl. After breakfast, Uncle Carl told Aunt Martha to sit and have another cup of coffee, Mom would clear the table and clean up the kitchen. Mom got up and took her dishes into the kitchen. Uncle Carl stood by the kitchen door and watched. If he thought she was too slow, he would hit her with the switch to speed her up.
This continued until Mom stopped showing up for breakfast. Lunch was now the only opportunity for Uncle Carl to hit Mom. That lasted one day and then Mom stopped eating with the family. We hardly saw Mom.
One night we heard Uncle Carl yelling. “You still haven’t learned anything. You would sneak around and steal from your sister. Your own mother said you were the devil. Well, I’ll beat the devil out of you and if you die I’ll feed you to the pigs.”
Then we heard Mom cry, Uncle Carl was beating her. We could hear the beating. Beth Ann was crying, Carl looked at me and I knew there was only one thing I could do. I’ll call Dad and get him to come and take us home.
In the morning it was as if nothing happened except Mom wasn’t there. After Carl and I did the chores, we went to town. There I called Dad from Jim’s house. I left two dollars to cover the call. Dad said he would make arrangements for us to come home. The problem I had, I didn’t want to go home. I still had 6 weeks before I had to be home.
During the first week of July, activity on the farm increased. The Fourth was celebrated at the Farmers Market. This was followed by the berry season. North of the farm was a creek. Carl said they owed the land where the berries grew. He said his dad likes blackberry pie and berry jam. For the next two weeks, we picked blackberries after doing our chores.
The last week of picking berries, we heard someone singing. Carl made a sign to be quiet, he followed the sound. Mom was sitting on an old broken chair eating blackberries.
Carl didn’t say anything but I was afraid he would tell his dad. Thankfully he didn’t at least it appeared Uncle Carl didn’t say anything about Mom. At the end of the berry-picking season, Dad called. He told me there were train tickets at the Pittsburgh train terminal. “Have Mom pick them up as they are in her name.” Now I needed to find Mom. I had an idea where she could be hiding.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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