A Seething Cauldron

"It was funny in a way how the air in the church was just as stifling for us kids as it was in the camp, though it was a different kind of stifling. It was as if we'd returned as lepers though their attitude to our parents was all kindness and comforting to them, but not so to us, Matthew, Sarah, Rebecca and myself, that is. They were way too tentative with us; as if they were trying to be good Christians but fearful. We felt their holding back, almost as if they were fearing to touch us. It couldn't have been worse for us, especially to my brother and sisters.

"As far as I know, Sarah is still in whatever place they finally thought they had to put her. Rebecca? The last I heard of her she was on the streets and hooked on whatever drugs she could get her hands on one way or another. Matthew? Our sweet brother committed suicide. How it was that I escaped any of their fates, I can only guess that I was too young for them. My brother and sisters knew the horror of it all first hand. Me? I only felt it through them and the fear that hung so heavy in the air of the camp that we all had to breathe continually."

When I had ended speaking I had no idea how much time had passed. However much time it was, I was suddenly worn out, and ready to collapse. Then I felt her body—I had either leaned into her, or she had moved to keep me from falling over.

"Have you held all of that in you all these years?" she asked in a tender voice, then I felt her lips softly kiss high over my eye.

I nodded.

"Do you think you can take a shower? You can stay here tonight, if you'd like; I have some pajamas or a gown that are clean."

In one of my fogs, I nodded again, and followed her as she got up, I nearly fell, but she held me.

"C'mon, I'll help you get washed, okay?"

What that meant, or entailed, I didn't think about it, but before I knew it, she'd helped me take my clothes off, or had taken them off without my help. Once more, unknown to me, we were in the shower, and naked. Somehow she washed me, then helped me get out and dried me. She sat me on the bed, found panties and a gown, and put them on me. I knew then that I was in a stupor, my mind as if held by a picture-less knowing of what I had said to her.

Helping me into her bed, she kissed my forehead, and whispered: "Ill be right back."

I hadn't fallen asleep when she returned. I just felt her sliding under the covers, her body not far from mine.

"Go to sleep, honey. You'll feel better in the morning."

At her words, my eyes closed, and I did sleep, but it was fitful. After a while, I was comfortable, or maybe I should say that I was comforted, and my sleep thereafter was untroubled. I sensed that I was on a cloud, soft and fluffy, and very secure.

Chapter 4

When I woke up, I hated to think about having to get up—I loved my cloud that I had slept on. No sooner had I thought of that than I woke up with a start, my head jerking up. I had been on Janet's breast! My face felt as if it were burning up.

"I'm sorry, I..." I couldn't finish.

My sudden discomfort grew even worse when I saw her smile, but it wasn't a bad smile. Still...

"When you did go to sleep, it was very troubled. When you came to my breast you relaxed. It was needed by you, and I was glad I could help you sleep, so it worked out okay. That is if you can get over your embarrassment. Think you can?" she more said than asked, her smile not diminishing one bit.

My mind still struggled with it.

"Rachel, it's fine, honey. Don't you feel like you slept good?" she asked with her brow raised high, and that smile still there. "Well, did you?"

"Ye—yes," I admitted, "I did; at least I think I did."

"You look pretty refreshed. Your eyes look okay; much better than when you tried to go to sleep, so no problem. You slept; I'm glad I could help you do so. How's that?" she sort of shrugged, abbreviated as it was with my body still against hers.

My body! I jerked away.

"I—I..." I spluttered.

She laughed quietly, a soft and kind laugh.

"How about some coffee?" she asked. "Oh, do you drink coffee, or something else?"

Slow as I was, she waited patiently, her eyes mirth filled, even looking as if they twinkled, then her eyebrow went up again.

"Ye—yes, I drink coffee." Then suddenly I scrambled out of bed and glanced about wildly, I'm sure, needing to go relieve my bladder.

She laughed quietly again and pointed to where the toilet was.

When I came out, she was gone so I put on my clothes not thinking that the panties I had on weren't mine, then went out to the kitchen. She was there still in her gown. I wondered if she had gone to the bathroom too, and then wondered where it was at, silly as those thoughts were. They mildly flustered me though.

"How do you take it?" she asked, holding a cup.

"Cream and sugar if you have it," I said quietly, my confusion still not abated.

She put both in front of me with my cup in a saucer.

"Okay, we got that you finally slept peacefully; now do you remember talking to me yesterday?"

A weary look came over me. I didn't want to think about it, but I did; I nodded my head, and said, "Yes, I remember."

"Good. You must have needed to get it out. Now how about we drink our coffee and let all of our senses wake up?" she said with a smile.

I nodded, but then another thought came to mind and my face went up in cinders.

"Oh-oh, thought of something else, huh?" she said softly with a kind tone to her voice.

Still mildly shocked by my thoughts, I nodded.

"What is it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You...last night...showered?" I asked, looking up with my worried and troubled mind.

"Oh. Yes, I helped you shower. Honey, you were in such a daze you didn't even seem to notice anything, so yes, I helped you. Is that okay?" she asked with an uneasy voice.

As she spoke, I began remembering in bits and snatches. I had told her most of what had happened, and I remembered being as if I was living it all again. Though profoundly disliking it, still I got it out, but my memory of saying it, reliving it, did put me into a state of disbelief. Yes, I did go into a dazed fog, but that badly?

"Honey, you must have really needed to get it out, and if you wish, we can talk about it again. I don't mind helping you like that if you need to talk. Honest I don't."

Janet was being the kindest friend; maybe that's why I opened up to her. Then again, I wasn't sure about anything. No! I was sure about how comfortable I felt with her, how I was enjoying the warmth of her person. There was no doubt about that.

"Yes, that might be good," I said in a whisper.

"Okay. Now how about we fix us some breakfast? I have eggs, bacon or ham, milk or more coffee. What would you like for us to fix?"

A good breakfast such as I hadn't eaten in months was a good thing for my mood, especially with Janet's warm smile across from me. When we finished our breakfast and cleaned up what we had dirtied, we took a cup of coffee to sit on the sofa. A part of me dreaded what was to possibly come, but another part of me kept on enjoying a morning vastly different than I'd had in a long time.

With some soft, relaxing music on, my anticipation eased.

"It's nice to have company and a cup of coffee. I hope you're feeling good about being here," she said.

"I am, thank you. It was pretty stressful last night, but things seem to be better now."

"Yeah, I think you've had more than a bad time back then. It does seem to have done you good to talk about it; like you've been holding it all in for too long."

I thought about it. It had been in me for years, stifling me, keeping me tensed up and wary of everybody. I didn't think I'd stop being careful around others, but somehow I did feel a genuine ease with Janet. Considering it all, from the past, and from last night, it did feel good to have let it out. Maybe it's what I needed. For sure, Janet made me feel comfortable enough to talk about it. Did I wish to continue talking about the past and the terrors it had held for me?

Our coffee finished, she left for a moment to change into her clothes, then returned.

"Rachel, honey, I don't want to push you, but if you feel good enough and want to continue to talk more, I think you know that I'll listen. If not, we can just sit and enjoy the music and take it easy."

I thought about it again, and sensed that I did need to talk; for whatever reason, Janet was good to talk to, and not like the others when we had returned.

"I had no idea what sex was," I began. I snickered lightly. "In fact, I guess that I still don't know what sex is. When we returned, Sarah was in bad shape; she babbled a lot, but she made enough sense at times that it came out. In little or no time, it seemed that everyone in the church knew what had happened, or at least what they made from what they were able to put together from Sarah's moments of coherence.

"It turned out that what I had probably seen was Sarah being raped by the counselor. Not knowing anything about sex, I couldn't put it together, only that they, Sarah and the counselor, were naked and he was moving over her. What struck me and held me so was the look on Sarah's face, that helpless fear, a—and the silent tears. Somehow, maybe it was from the change in so many of the others, and in Matthew and Rebecca, I knew that something horrible was happening, and...and I didn't know what to do.

"I couldn't tell anyone because I really didn't know anything, at least not then. When it became common knowledge among the church members, they all gathered around our parents, but with us, we were just about shunned. It was as if they thought we had done something to deserve what had happened. Even the other kids from the church stayed away from us, looked at us as if we were lepers.

"That may be what drove Matthew to commit suicide, or at least pushed him into it. Sarah got worse What may or may not have happened to any of the others, I didn't know. I just hope that they, the kids, were treated better by their congregations. Anyway, Sarah was sent to a hospital; as far as I know, she's still there.

"It was only a few years when Rebecca turned to drugs. She didn't, wouldn't, talk to me, and neither did Matthew. It was strange; how our parents acted. As I think about it now, I sense that they were somehow enjoying all the attention that they were getting from the others.

"They had to own up to what they had let happen after some time, but I had no idea what, if anything was done to those counselors. Me? I guess since no one talked to me, I withdrew into myself. when I was old enough to understand, I withdrew even more. They did have a counselor, a psychiatrist maybe, or something like that, try to talk to me, but he didn't seem too interested, and I thought he looked at me funny too.

"When he didn't do any good, they had a woman counselor, or whatever, try to talk to me, but she was stiffer than the guy before her. It was as if they were trying to get something out of me, but why, or what, I didn't know; they just made me feel uncomfortable, leery of them. They finally stopped trying to get me to talk. They were still taking us all to church, and I thought I saw those that had tried talking to me there, but not regularly. Then it came out in the paper, but I never knew what, if anything, came of it getting out.

"After I was seventeen, almost eighteen, and had graduated from high school, I left home. They''d asked me if I would go on a mission with them. I couldn't believe it. I haven't talked to my parents since then. They had a strong belief in what they were supposed to do and decided to go back into the field. Honestly, I was incredulous, and yet it didn't really surprise me. Anyway, I think you pretty much know the rest."

As I talked, there was a slow, steady stream of tears falling down my face. I wiped at them, then saw that Janet was handing me a tissue. We were silent for a while, then Janet started to talk.

"How do you feel about it now?" she asked gently.

"I'm not sure," I whispered with my head down. "I feel odd, drained, confused, and like I can't think."

"Would you like to lay down and take a nap?" she asked.

Suddenly I felt my body trembling, my arms wanting to shake, and my hands were shaking. I held them to try to control them, then I felt my head twitching.

"Come on, honey, let's get you in bed and let you rest," she said, her voice anxious.

She helped me get up, then walked me to the bed. I looked at her with what I knew had to be a pitiful face and eyes.

"Would you like for me to lie down with you?"

Feeling fear, I nodded, but why I was feeling afraid escaped me, I just was. When we were in bed, I didn't wait for her to ask me, I just rolled into her arm and curled up in a fetal position, my face on her breast again, and no, I didn't think about it, I just moved seeking comfort, safety.

"Sh, honey, try to relax," she whispered tenderly, her one hand in my hair gently caressing it as she held me close.

It wasn't long before I was sleeping, Janet's soft and warm body making me feel secure, her breast feeling very warm and comfortable. There were no thoughts, just the need of feeling safe, and maybe belonging as I hadn't felt in all of the years since the tragedy that befell us.

* * * *

"What time is it?" I asked as I came awake.

"About eleven," she answered.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Two or so hours. How do you feel?"

"Okay, I guess," my mind remembering what I'd said, and my body feeling pretty good, all things considered.

"Do you like hot tea?" she asked me.

"Yes, some."

"I have some chamomile tea that may help you refresh yourself," she said. "Think you might like some?"

"Uh, okay," I said, not sure what chamomile tea was.

The tea was good without sugar; whether it really did or didn't, I felt that it smoothed me out, helped to ease the lingering tensions, but I knew they'd be back. I was pretty much used to tension as I'd lived with it for years, but now I had thoughts, thoughts that I hadn't permitted myself to entertain before.

"Rachel, you said that your parents asked if you'd like to go on the mission with them again. What did you think or feel about that?"

I was about to take my last drink of the tea and nearly dropped the cup, the tension, and more, suddenly coming again, but more powerfully. Then I felt my face contorting and my body tightening up as it hadn't at any time since we'd returned.

"Honey, what is it? What are you feeling?" she asked, renewed concern in her voice, but stronger than before.

Looking within, I saw the feeling still welling up in me—it was more than anger, it was rage!

I looked at Janet and saw her anxious face exhibiting her worry, and maybe some fear too.

"Honey, what is it?" she whispered as her hand reached to caress my cheek.

It boiled over in me in a rush.

"How could they have done it? How could they not even think of what might happen? Did they even truly feel sorrow at Matthew's death, a death that shouldn't have been, one that they'd led him to? How could they leave again with Sarah still in that hospital, and Rebecca out on some street maybe selling herself for more drugs; maybe dead? How, damn it? How?" I screamed.

My body felt as if it was trying to explode—my tears did.

Janet was holding me close to her again, my face down against her soft and comforting breast again as I washed her top with my tears. I cried for a long time, my sobs racking my body until my ribs were hurting to where they stifled the sobbing. I had to stop.

I did stop, but then sensed that Janet had been crying with me. Her tears must have been many, and for a long time for my hair felt wet on my back.

"I—I'm sorry, Ja—Janet," I stuttered. " Sorry..." I couldn't continue.

"Hush, baby, hush. You had to get it out sometime. It's been a seething cauldron in you for much too long."

A seething cauldron! Yes, that's what it was, and had been, for all of these years. As Janet held me, and my lingering sniffling was ending, I sensed that there was a relief in me—in my body, in my mind. It was a freedom I hadn't had in, oh, so many years. As I felt the relief washing over both my physical body and mental self, I realized that Janet and I were still clinging to each other. More, I knew just how good she felt to me, how safe and warm I was in her arms. Why hadn't my parents ever made me feel like Janet was making me feel?

Allowing those thoughts to rummage through my mind, I knew that I was glad that it was Janet that was holding me and not my parents. I pulled back and looked at her, saw her tear stained eyes, and that soft, small, sweet smile she had. Then she leaned in and kissed my cheek, her kiss lingering momentarily. I heard myself sigh with the ineffable joy of feeling that simple kiss that was loving and kind when I needed it the most. I had a feeling of true belonging.

"Thank you," I told her. "How it happened, I don't know, but I feel as if I'm somehow, someway, free."

"Talking does do one good, I take it," she said with her ever present smile that I was adoring.

"It seems so," I said.

"Were your parents big believers in the Old Testament law?" she asked me.

"Yes, I think so. The whole church was, as well as in the New Testament."

"Well, it's a good thing that they didn't follow all of the laws of the Old Testament, if what I heard is true."

"What law?" I asked her.

"I've never read it, but I heard that in the book of Exodus, there is a verse or two where Moses tells about the law of a father selling his daughter, but not of selling any son."

A man could sell his daughter? That was so odd; then there was that of nothing being said about selling a son.

"You didn't read it, but it's in Exodus, you say."

"Yes, I think so."

"It's a pretty big book; do you remember where it's supposed to be?" I asked, interested for some reason or other.

"I'm not sure. Uh, chapter twenty? Maybe twenty-one? Something like that."

"Do you happen to have a bible?"

"Hm, yes, somewhere. Hold on, let me look."

Shortly she brought me a King James Version, and I began looking. How could a man sell his daughter? Scouring it, I went through chapter 20, then into twenty-one. There I quickly found it in verse seven—it was true. For some reason or other this seemed significant to me. It also outlined the rules of selling through verse eleven, then went on to something else. It was true, there was nothing about selling a son. It was ridiculous—ludicrous! But it was there.

I sat and let it sink in.

"Do you know a lot of your bible?" she asked me.

Thinking about her question, I had to admit that I didn't.

"No! I guess we were told what was in it, what they considered important, I guess, and we believed it. We had some classes, but I can't say that I remember much of what was said save that Jesus is our savior, we had to repent of our sins, and accept him. Oh, and be baptized."

"Which you were, huh?" she asked plainly, not really asking to know what she already figured out.

"Yes. It was just before we left on the mission. I know I felt something special, that we were doing something very worthy, something for God, for our faith. All of us did. I remember us being so happy and everyone coming to us and welcoming us though we'd always been there. How silly that seems now, but I was a kid then."

"Why does it seem silly now?" she asked.

"I guess because we really didn't know what we were doing, at least I didn't. Then there was what happened to us, and how they couldn't see that it might happen, and how unprepared we all were. Oh, god..." I cried again, my head in my hands.

"Janet, I felt that rage that I had trying to come on again. There's just so much that's wrong with all of this. So very wrong. I want to be mad at my parents, the church, those evil men, and everyone in the church and how they acted toward us, but treated our parents as if they had been set on instead of my brother and sisters. I don't know. I just don't know," I said, the sorrow of it all coming back as if new, as if it happened after we returned.