The Memory Thief Read Online Free Page B

I was
     right. It is not safe, especially when you haven’t the sense to come home at a decent time.”
    Hannah looked around the room. There were stacks of clothes piled up to her waist. Bethie was turned and sorting them.
    “I’m sorry. I found a job today, helping out at a motel and restaurant. I’ve been so busy that I didn’t think about the time.”
    “You took a job? Without asking me?”
    Father walked in, smiled when he saw Hannah. Mother’s jaw was tight, her eyes narrowed, as she studied Hannah. How her hair
     was tumbling in tangles around her, little curls twisting around her temples. How her face was pink and happy. Maybe even
     pretty.
    “You look unkempt,” she hissed.
    “It’s the steam,” Hannah said, her hands going up to her hair. “They make steam buckets there, and the steam does a number
     on my hair.”
    “Go groom yourself.”
    “Wait,” Father said. “Tell me where you’ve been.”
    “She has a job. Your father has taken us to eat at the best restaurants in Charleston. We’ve gone on every historic tour possible.
     What could you need money for?”
    “Nothing. I’ll quit.”
    “Bethie and I could have used your help, you know. I have four laundry baskets full of clothes that I still need to wash and
     make look like new for the shelter.”
    “Why do you have a job?” Father asked.
    Hannah shrugged her shoulders. “Saw a sign today, and I don’t really know why, I just decided to see if I could work there.”
    “This isn’t like her,” Mother whispered, her hands covering her mouth. “Maybe we should go home.”
    “Everybody settle down,” Father said, and sighed. “Hannah, you should’ve called. You worried all of us. You’ll wash up all
     that laundry tonight. But you can keep your job if you want. As long as you go to church, too.”
    Hannah looked at Mother, standing with her hands covering her face. She hurried over to Bethie. “Tell me where you left off.”
    Bethie raised her hands, waved them, and curled them in front of her. Hannah took a step backward. “What are you doing?”
    Bethie’s hands moved furiously, her face like stone.
    “Something’s wrong with Bethie.”
    Mother and Father watched Bethie for a moment, before Mother offered a quick solution. “Poor child, you’re overworked,” she said, shooting a glance at Hannah. “With all this heat, and then the extra burden you’ve had to carry because of Hannah’s absence. Go to bed and rest. Since Hannah likes to work so much, she can finish up here. You’ll feel better in
     the morning.”
    But Bethie was the same in the morning. Father stared at her, confused, before leaving for work. Mother whispered threats
     while she cleared the dishes. Then offered bribes. And when none of it worked, when nothing would make Bethie speak or still
     her hands, she left the room quietly. She returned with one of Father’s old T-shirts and a pair of scissors. With one look,
     Hannah knew exactly what she planned to do.
    “Mother,” Hannah whispered, as she shook her head. “Don’t.”
    Bethie knew, too, and her hands started moving furiously in front of her. But Mother was strong. She caught Bethie’s hands
     and pulled them behind her. Wrapped strips of Father’s T-shirts around Bethie’s wrists until her hands were as still as her
     mouth.
    “I’ll tell Father,” Hannah whispered. “He won’t stand for it.”
    Mother ignored her, pulled a chair near Bethie, and sat down before her. “Just tell me what you’re doing. That’s all I want.
     Use your voice, use your words, and I’ll set your hands free.”
    “Bethie?” Hannah pleaded.
    One single hot tear escaped the corner of Bethie’s eye. It slid down her smooth-as-stone face, shimmered against her golden
     skin. Hannah couldn’t bear it. She ran from the room and threw herself down on the bed she shared with her sister.
    The bed was already made. The quilt Mother had designed and carefully sewn was pulled tight and free of any