Bones Fic: In the Trenches, ch 6
Title: In the Trenches Part 6/2630
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Athiest in a Foxhole
~March 1992~
Mrs. Dougherty's car smelled musty, like she'd spilled something and it had mildewed. At least on this trip Temperance wasn't stuck in the back seat like a small child or a prisoner, but she was no less powerless. She stared out the side window and tried not to fidget with the fringe on her mother's scarf.
"I'm sure things will be fine with the Davises, Temperance. Transitions can be hard at first, but you're smart, and you've had more time to adjust now."
Temperance wondered how Mrs. Dougherty could be a social worker when she clearly didn't understand people. Russ had known by the time he was nine or ten that his little sister found change unsettling. Before she'd started kindergarten, he'd told her all about their school and its layout. He'd drawn the hallways and classrooms with sidewalk chalk on their front walk and let her write labels on everything. Then he'd warned her not to show off how much she could read and write to the other kids. She'd tried, but from her first week of school it had seemed her peers--at the ripe age of five--had understood how different she was and had used it against her.
Mrs. Dougherty clearly thought Temperance was being difficult, maladaptive, deliberately eschewing interaction. Mrs. Dougherty didn't understand. She was going on as if socialization were as easy as algebraic order of operations. "--always helps to show your interest and share things in conversation. Mrs. Martin said you rarely interacted with the family and that she'd hoped when you'd settled you'd come out of your shell like she's seen other children do."
Temperance felt her lip curl at the suggestion, yet again, that she was a child, and at the implication that she could have interacted when Kyle was rampaging. Then she processed the rest of the statement. "Mr. and Mrs. Martin have had other foster children?"
"Of course." Mrs. Dougherty turned to Temperance, frowning. "They've had at least a dozen children in and out of their home. Kyle has stayed the longest; he's been with them for six years."
"Kyle is a foster child?" Temperance stared at Mrs. Dougherty.
"Well, if he were available for adoption, I doubt he would be; the Martins have been assuring him for years that they would never let him go unless there was a legal mandate. ...You didn't know?"
Temperance shook her head.
"Huh."
Muscles tensed across Temperance's forehead. What else had she failed to observe? What else had she missed? Another fear struck, and her stomach dropped. "Will I be able to stay at Addison Trail?"
"Yes. We were lucky to find a placement in the same district."
Relief spread through her, so strong that she leaned back as her shoulders dropped.
Another glance came her way. "Temperance, if you are so concerned about your education, you need to work a little more at fitting into this home. Based on Mrs. Martin's comments, you're clean and polite enough, but very distant. You might want to try to be more involved at the Davis's. Open up a little, participate in family life, maybe make friends."
Temperance almost laughed. This woman said it like it was so easy, so natural. She really had no idea...and she was still talking.
"--live a little farther from the school and have five children."
"Five?" Temperance heard her voice almost squeak. She sounded like Maria in The Sound of Music when she'd found out she'd be governess for seven. Temperance had watched the movie with Mom every year, the two of them singing along to "My Favorite Things," but she'd always felt sorry for the kids--especially the little ones--whose mother was dead. The idea that she'd ever be anything like them.
Not that Mom was dead. She refused to consider that possibility--was something she'd never truly worried about, never planned for. That had clearly been a mistake, not planning.
Dimly she heard Mrs. Dougherty list the children's ages as two, five, seven, twelve, and "sixteen, just like you."
"I'm fifteen."
"Right. Right. Sorry. But you'll be sixteen soon."
"Are these children all foster children too, then?" she asked, determined not to repeat her mistake.
"Oh, no. They're all Davises. And...here we are."
They turned into the driveway of a well-shaded brick house. Another split-level, but this one better kept up. There was a snow-covered swing-set visible in the backyard. Mrs. Dougherty parked.
"You're a good kid, Temperance. Remember what I said. And see if you can't try to smile some. You'll feel happier when you smile." She swung open the door, letting in a blast of biting cold air. "Well, come on. Let's get you introduced."
Before the door was opened, Temperance forced her face into a smile. It did not make her feel happier.
Mr. Davis greeted her with a hearty handshake and voice. "Welcome to our home, Temperance. We all hope you will be blessed by your stay here."
She wasn't sure exactly what he meant; she had never heard anyone say anything quite like that. "Thank you, sir," she responded. Her voice sounded timid to her ears. She didn't like sounding like that. She caught Mrs. Dougherty looking at her, pointing to her own lips, and realized she'd let the smile slip. She plastered one back on. Her cheeks already ached.
As Mr. Davis explained that they were nearly ready for dinner and introduced the children, Temperance reflected that Mrs. Dougherty's smile always looked as awkward and forced as hers now felt. She wondered why she thought that about the social worker's smile; she'd always known and been told she wasn't particularly adept at reading expressions, but she had a strong feeling about this. She had no evidence of it, no concrete description of what seemed...wrong, and it seemed an unfair judgment.
Mrs. Dougherty stayed until Temperance's belongings were settled into the room she would share with twelve-year-old Sarah and seven-year-old Lydia. It was a relief when she left and the feeling of being evaluated left with her.
A small hand tugged at hers.
"Mama says it's dinner."
She blinked at the little boy. He pulled harder.
"Mama says come eat now!"
This time she smile without effort and let herself be led to the table.
"You sit here." The boy--Joseph--patted the chair. "Next to me," he added, grinning at her then climbing into a chair with a booster.
The food had already been served, and Temperance placed her napkin on her lap and picked up her fork.
A little hand stopped her again. "Not yet. Gotta pray first."
She looked around and saw the rest of the family staring at her. She set her fork back down and folded her hands in her lap.
Mr. Davis's voice was quiet and deep. "John, would you offer grace?" He inclined his head toward the lanky teenager at the other end of the table.
John's voice was not as deep as his father's yet, but he spoke with certainty. "Our dear Lord, we thank you for the abundance you bless us with daily, and for the love and effort that went into preparing this meal. Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, and in Jesus's name we pray, amen."
This time Temperance waited until the others took bites of the food before she picked up her fork and began to twirl her spaghetti.
"So, Temperance, tell us about yourself," Mrs. Davis said.
"All right." She swallowed carefully, Mrs. Dougherty's words echoing in her mind. "Um...what would you like to know?"
"Well, do you have any hobbies?"
"I enjoy reading. And learning, especially about all areas of science. I'm taking physics right now. And I enjoy participating in the state history and science competitions."
"That's a lot of science," Sarah said.
Temperance wanted to duck her head and just nod. This much attention focused on her was immensely uncomfortable, but she wanted to stay in one school at least until the end of the year, so she was going to try to talk, to share things. "My dad was a science teacher. I did my first experiments with him."
"Where is he now?" Lydia asked. "Did he die?"
Temperance froze, a forkful of green beans halfway to her mouth. The breath she'd been taking almost choked her, and she couldn't take her eyes off of Lydia--little green-eyed, curly-haired, seven-year-old Lydia--sitting at a table with her whole family, picking at pasta as if her question carried no weight. Temperance decided she was grateful the little girl's attention had returned to food, but she found she couldn't shape, let alone speak, words.
"Lydia, honey," Mrs. Davis whispered, "Temperance's parents disappeared, and she doesn't know the answer to that question. It's probably painful to talk about. Let's let her talk about her parents if she wants but not ask anything more, okay?"
"Okay," Lydia said. "I'm sorry, Temperance."
The metal fork handle dug into Temperance's fingers where she'd gripped it so hard, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment at being the topic of casual dinner conversation. This was why she didn't talk about herself. "It's all right," she mumbled. At least they would move on to talk about other things now.
"So," Mr. Davis said, "Temperance is an unusual name. Surely your parents chose it for a specific reason."
So much for not talking about her parents, but at least this was safer ground. "I don't think they ever explained their choice." And now I may never know, she realized suddenly. Her throat tightened in a far-too-familiar way. Not such a safe topic after all.
"I would have thought you came from a religious family."
She shook her head. "My family is not religious.
He frowned and took a drink of his water. "Your parents didn't bring you up knowing God?"
He had the look of someone to whom she'd given offense. At least she'd learned to recognize that look. "Well, when I was twelve, I expressed interest in religion and why and what people believe, so Dad and I visited various sites of religious veneration."
Everyone at the table was staring at her. It was uncomfortable, but maybe they were just confused. Mom and Russ always told her she needed to slow down and give examples, that not everyone could follow her mental leaps. She took a deep breath and continued. "We went to Holy Name Cathedral for Mass, and the Hindu and Buddhist Temples--"
"Idolatrous," Mr. Davis muttered.
"I'm sorry?"
"Idols are statues of false gods," Joseph said helpfully.
"I know they're statues, but I know that the believers we met wouldn’t consider their gods 'false.' Anyway, the statuary is symbolic, decorative, often quite beautiful, and people don't specifically worship them." She looked around the table and saw slack jaws and wide eyes. Mr. Davis's hand hit the table, making his fork hit his plate and his glass rattle. "There is no statuary at the Bahá'í House of Worship," she added, hearing her voice trail off.
"You begged your father for access to worship, and he took you to these...heretics?" Mr. Davis's face was growing red.
"Paul, it's the girl's first night here," Mrs. Davis whispered.
"Actually, the believers we spoke to wouldn't be heretics unless they were to believe against their own faiths. Do you adhere to Christianity?"
"Of course," Sarah said from across the table.
"I'm very interested to witness the rituals you observe in practicing your faith." Maybe this interest would make a good impression.
"We do not engage in 'ritual' at our church, not like the heathens your father showed you." Mr. Davis spoke with his teeth clenched, and it made Temperance even more uncomfortable. "It's shameful that you've been denied the opportunity of righteous worship and kept away from the truth for so long."
"But this is a matter of faith, not fact--"
"Finish your dinner, Temperance," he said shortly. "We need to clean up and get to bed. We'll leave at eight tomorrow for Sunday School. I thank God your parents left, and He guided you to a God-fearing household."
The air rushed out of her lungs, and for a moment she couldn't even gasp for breath. He thought it was good, was thankful that her parents were...for whatever had happened to them, thought it was the work of his God that she was alone. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, with Temperance only picking at tiny bites of the now-tasteless food as her stomach twisted. She blinked back tears and wondered how she could have prevented the conversation from going so horribly wrong.
***
Chapter 7
***
Posting Schedule: This story has 2630 parts, which will post here and at ff.net on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Author's Notes
Thanks upon thanks to my wonderful betas and sounding boards: jsq, bluemorpho, and havocthecat. HUGE and effusive gratitude to my line-editor and prodder to make this story as good as I could at this time, as well as encouragement and sounding board services while I planned and wrote for two years to Ayiana.
Feedback is most assuredly welcome.
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Athiest in a Foxhole
~March 1992~
Mrs. Dougherty's car smelled musty, like she'd spilled something and it had mildewed. At least on this trip Temperance wasn't stuck in the back seat like a small child or a prisoner, but she was no less powerless. She stared out the side window and tried not to fidget with the fringe on her mother's scarf.
"I'm sure things will be fine with the Davises, Temperance. Transitions can be hard at first, but you're smart, and you've had more time to adjust now."
Temperance wondered how Mrs. Dougherty could be a social worker when she clearly didn't understand people. Russ had known by the time he was nine or ten that his little sister found change unsettling. Before she'd started kindergarten, he'd told her all about their school and its layout. He'd drawn the hallways and classrooms with sidewalk chalk on their front walk and let her write labels on everything. Then he'd warned her not to show off how much she could read and write to the other kids. She'd tried, but from her first week of school it had seemed her peers--at the ripe age of five--had understood how different she was and had used it against her.
Mrs. Dougherty clearly thought Temperance was being difficult, maladaptive, deliberately eschewing interaction. Mrs. Dougherty didn't understand. She was going on as if socialization were as easy as algebraic order of operations. "--always helps to show your interest and share things in conversation. Mrs. Martin said you rarely interacted with the family and that she'd hoped when you'd settled you'd come out of your shell like she's seen other children do."
Temperance felt her lip curl at the suggestion, yet again, that she was a child, and at the implication that she could have interacted when Kyle was rampaging. Then she processed the rest of the statement. "Mr. and Mrs. Martin have had other foster children?"
"Of course." Mrs. Dougherty turned to Temperance, frowning. "They've had at least a dozen children in and out of their home. Kyle has stayed the longest; he's been with them for six years."
"Kyle is a foster child?" Temperance stared at Mrs. Dougherty.
"Well, if he were available for adoption, I doubt he would be; the Martins have been assuring him for years that they would never let him go unless there was a legal mandate. ...You didn't know?"
Temperance shook her head.
"Huh."
Muscles tensed across Temperance's forehead. What else had she failed to observe? What else had she missed? Another fear struck, and her stomach dropped. "Will I be able to stay at Addison Trail?"
"Yes. We were lucky to find a placement in the same district."
Relief spread through her, so strong that she leaned back as her shoulders dropped.
Another glance came her way. "Temperance, if you are so concerned about your education, you need to work a little more at fitting into this home. Based on Mrs. Martin's comments, you're clean and polite enough, but very distant. You might want to try to be more involved at the Davis's. Open up a little, participate in family life, maybe make friends."
Temperance almost laughed. This woman said it like it was so easy, so natural. She really had no idea...and she was still talking.
"--live a little farther from the school and have five children."
"Five?" Temperance heard her voice almost squeak. She sounded like Maria in The Sound of Music when she'd found out she'd be governess for seven. Temperance had watched the movie with Mom every year, the two of them singing along to "My Favorite Things," but she'd always felt sorry for the kids--especially the little ones--whose mother was dead. The idea that she'd ever be anything like them.
Not that Mom was dead. She refused to consider that possibility--was something she'd never truly worried about, never planned for. That had clearly been a mistake, not planning.
Dimly she heard Mrs. Dougherty list the children's ages as two, five, seven, twelve, and "sixteen, just like you."
"I'm fifteen."
"Right. Right. Sorry. But you'll be sixteen soon."
"Are these children all foster children too, then?" she asked, determined not to repeat her mistake.
"Oh, no. They're all Davises. And...here we are."
They turned into the driveway of a well-shaded brick house. Another split-level, but this one better kept up. There was a snow-covered swing-set visible in the backyard. Mrs. Dougherty parked.
"You're a good kid, Temperance. Remember what I said. And see if you can't try to smile some. You'll feel happier when you smile." She swung open the door, letting in a blast of biting cold air. "Well, come on. Let's get you introduced."
Before the door was opened, Temperance forced her face into a smile. It did not make her feel happier.
Mr. Davis greeted her with a hearty handshake and voice. "Welcome to our home, Temperance. We all hope you will be blessed by your stay here."
She wasn't sure exactly what he meant; she had never heard anyone say anything quite like that. "Thank you, sir," she responded. Her voice sounded timid to her ears. She didn't like sounding like that. She caught Mrs. Dougherty looking at her, pointing to her own lips, and realized she'd let the smile slip. She plastered one back on. Her cheeks already ached.
As Mr. Davis explained that they were nearly ready for dinner and introduced the children, Temperance reflected that Mrs. Dougherty's smile always looked as awkward and forced as hers now felt. She wondered why she thought that about the social worker's smile; she'd always known and been told she wasn't particularly adept at reading expressions, but she had a strong feeling about this. She had no evidence of it, no concrete description of what seemed...wrong, and it seemed an unfair judgment.
Mrs. Dougherty stayed until Temperance's belongings were settled into the room she would share with twelve-year-old Sarah and seven-year-old Lydia. It was a relief when she left and the feeling of being evaluated left with her.
A small hand tugged at hers.
"Mama says it's dinner."
She blinked at the little boy. He pulled harder.
"Mama says come eat now!"
This time she smile without effort and let herself be led to the table.
"You sit here." The boy--Joseph--patted the chair. "Next to me," he added, grinning at her then climbing into a chair with a booster.
The food had already been served, and Temperance placed her napkin on her lap and picked up her fork.
A little hand stopped her again. "Not yet. Gotta pray first."
She looked around and saw the rest of the family staring at her. She set her fork back down and folded her hands in her lap.
Mr. Davis's voice was quiet and deep. "John, would you offer grace?" He inclined his head toward the lanky teenager at the other end of the table.
John's voice was not as deep as his father's yet, but he spoke with certainty. "Our dear Lord, we thank you for the abundance you bless us with daily, and for the love and effort that went into preparing this meal. Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, and in Jesus's name we pray, amen."
This time Temperance waited until the others took bites of the food before she picked up her fork and began to twirl her spaghetti.
"So, Temperance, tell us about yourself," Mrs. Davis said.
"All right." She swallowed carefully, Mrs. Dougherty's words echoing in her mind. "Um...what would you like to know?"
"Well, do you have any hobbies?"
"I enjoy reading. And learning, especially about all areas of science. I'm taking physics right now. And I enjoy participating in the state history and science competitions."
"That's a lot of science," Sarah said.
Temperance wanted to duck her head and just nod. This much attention focused on her was immensely uncomfortable, but she wanted to stay in one school at least until the end of the year, so she was going to try to talk, to share things. "My dad was a science teacher. I did my first experiments with him."
"Where is he now?" Lydia asked. "Did he die?"
Temperance froze, a forkful of green beans halfway to her mouth. The breath she'd been taking almost choked her, and she couldn't take her eyes off of Lydia--little green-eyed, curly-haired, seven-year-old Lydia--sitting at a table with her whole family, picking at pasta as if her question carried no weight. Temperance decided she was grateful the little girl's attention had returned to food, but she found she couldn't shape, let alone speak, words.
"Lydia, honey," Mrs. Davis whispered, "Temperance's parents disappeared, and she doesn't know the answer to that question. It's probably painful to talk about. Let's let her talk about her parents if she wants but not ask anything more, okay?"
"Okay," Lydia said. "I'm sorry, Temperance."
The metal fork handle dug into Temperance's fingers where she'd gripped it so hard, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment at being the topic of casual dinner conversation. This was why she didn't talk about herself. "It's all right," she mumbled. At least they would move on to talk about other things now.
"So," Mr. Davis said, "Temperance is an unusual name. Surely your parents chose it for a specific reason."
So much for not talking about her parents, but at least this was safer ground. "I don't think they ever explained their choice." And now I may never know, she realized suddenly. Her throat tightened in a far-too-familiar way. Not such a safe topic after all.
"I would have thought you came from a religious family."
She shook her head. "My family is not religious.
He frowned and took a drink of his water. "Your parents didn't bring you up knowing God?"
He had the look of someone to whom she'd given offense. At least she'd learned to recognize that look. "Well, when I was twelve, I expressed interest in religion and why and what people believe, so Dad and I visited various sites of religious veneration."
Everyone at the table was staring at her. It was uncomfortable, but maybe they were just confused. Mom and Russ always told her she needed to slow down and give examples, that not everyone could follow her mental leaps. She took a deep breath and continued. "We went to Holy Name Cathedral for Mass, and the Hindu and Buddhist Temples--"
"Idolatrous," Mr. Davis muttered.
"I'm sorry?"
"Idols are statues of false gods," Joseph said helpfully.
"I know they're statues, but I know that the believers we met wouldn’t consider their gods 'false.' Anyway, the statuary is symbolic, decorative, often quite beautiful, and people don't specifically worship them." She looked around the table and saw slack jaws and wide eyes. Mr. Davis's hand hit the table, making his fork hit his plate and his glass rattle. "There is no statuary at the Bahá'í House of Worship," she added, hearing her voice trail off.
"You begged your father for access to worship, and he took you to these...heretics?" Mr. Davis's face was growing red.
"Paul, it's the girl's first night here," Mrs. Davis whispered.
"Actually, the believers we spoke to wouldn't be heretics unless they were to believe against their own faiths. Do you adhere to Christianity?"
"Of course," Sarah said from across the table.
"I'm very interested to witness the rituals you observe in practicing your faith." Maybe this interest would make a good impression.
"We do not engage in 'ritual' at our church, not like the heathens your father showed you." Mr. Davis spoke with his teeth clenched, and it made Temperance even more uncomfortable. "It's shameful that you've been denied the opportunity of righteous worship and kept away from the truth for so long."
"But this is a matter of faith, not fact--"
"Finish your dinner, Temperance," he said shortly. "We need to clean up and get to bed. We'll leave at eight tomorrow for Sunday School. I thank God your parents left, and He guided you to a God-fearing household."
The air rushed out of her lungs, and for a moment she couldn't even gasp for breath. He thought it was good, was thankful that her parents were...for whatever had happened to them, thought it was the work of his God that she was alone. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, with Temperance only picking at tiny bites of the now-tasteless food as her stomach twisted. She blinked back tears and wondered how she could have prevented the conversation from going so horribly wrong.
***
Chapter 7
***
Posting Schedule: This story has 2630 parts, which will post here and at ff.net on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Author's Notes
Thanks upon thanks to my wonderful betas and sounding boards: jsq, bluemorpho, and havocthecat. HUGE and effusive gratitude to my line-editor and prodder to make this story as good as I could at this time, as well as encouragement and sounding board services while I planned and wrote for two years to Ayiana.
Feedback is most assuredly welcome.