“Ow,” Fannie cried, pulling her hand back. “That hurts.”
“It can,” Rebecca admitted, retaking her hand and giving it a final swipe. The girl flinched but this time did not cry out. “But only for a minute, while any infection would hurt a great deal longer.”
Rebecca strolled toward the far end of the kitchen and opened the door to the attached cold cellar to fetch some ice.
“What are you doing now?” Fannie asked.
“We’re going to reduce the feeling in your skin for a few moments,” she explained as she ran the substance over the child’s hand before threading a needle and swiping it through a flame, her heart pounding a little. “So I can do this.” She turned back and began her work.
“I can still feel that,” Fannie protested, her voice strained, though this time she did not cry out.
“You’re being quite brave about it,” Rebecca assured her. She stitched as quickly as she could, while being as careful and neat aspossible so it could heal without scar or infection. It was not easy, especially as she was using her nondominant hand to stitch and her still injured right to hold the girl still as best she could.
“It’s all right. Just a little bit longer,” she promised as she began the process of tying her stitches. “There we go.” She set down the needle and returned to her chemicals, dipping the cloth once again. Then she grabbed a fresh, dry cloth. “Now we shall clean this a touch more, wrap it…” She wound the new bandage around Fannie’s hand. “All better. More or less.”
The girl stared at her hand for a moment, twisting her arm to view it from various angles. “Thank you,” she said finally, stepping back from the table and gazing up at Rebecca, her tone, for once, surprisingly sincere and almost grateful.
“You’re quite welcome,” Rebecca returned. The two stared at each other for another long moment. Shaking her head, she rose and wiped off her apron. “Now let’s go find your father and—”
“No,” Fannie cut in, her voice cracking a touch.
Rebecca halted. “Beg pardon?” she asked, as she must have heard wrong.
“I said no.” Frannie’s light brown eyes were bright with liquid.
“I think he should know about—”
“You don’t know anything,” Fannie snapped, though her voice shook.
“I—” Rebecca took a step toward her. Not sure precisely what she would do, as comfort was not particularly her forte, but the child needed something.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Fannie said, turning on Rebecca, her little fist twisting in anger. “Mama and Oma should be here, and I hate you.” She stamped her foot. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”
Oy.
“You aren’t the first and shall not be the last,” Rebecca muttered.
Also, if Fannie opposed her presence so much, wait until she learned Miss Teres’s would be permanent. While there was a chance Fannie might object to her less, given their similar backgrounds, that seemed farfetched.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall when they were introduced.
Not that it was any of her business.
Taking a deep breath, Rebecca contemplated the girl again, as a large, fat tear rolled down her cheek. Something twisted below her breast.
It was quite difficult to be a child, wasn’t it? Especially one who’d lost a parent—the parent who primarily cared for them—barely a year ago. To be left instead with the one who’d been essentially absent for years and was making all sorts of changes to one’s life.
If there was anyone who hated change and understood being the subject of forces one could not control, in the most unfair of ways… Rebecca’s shoulders slumped as she approached the child once more.
“I will say that I understand,” she offered.
“Understand what?” the girl asked, swiping at her face with her unbandaged hand.
“It’s quite difficult to have a sharp mind but have one’s desires limited by others. When your opinion is discounted even though you’re certain you’re correct. It can be rather frustrating,” Rebecca explained. “Especially when one seems to have very little control over anything in one’s life.”
“You’re an adult and can do as you please,” Fannie challenged, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes red, though the tears had thankfully stopped.
“One would think,” Rebecca returned, her lip twitching. “I also know that it’s quite difficult not to want everyone around you to beas frustrated as you are.” She raised a finger and took a deep breath. “But…”
