Bones Fic: In the Trenches, ch 9

Feb 28, 2012 21:59

Chapter 9: Lobbing Grenades
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Warnings: physical abuse, psychological abuse

Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Lobbing Grenades

***

"Temperance?"

She moved through the wave of departing students. "Yes, Mrs. Liang?"

"I wanted to comment on how impressed I am with your work. You're quick, have an excellent grasp of the concepts, and I appreciate that you still work hard. I suspect we are moving a bit slowly for you, though."

She smiled, and it felt...foreign. "That would be an accurate statement."

"We're always looking for students to join Math Team." Mrs. Liang smiled. "I was wondering if I could convince you."

Temperance remembered the competition she'd missed, how upset Jodi had been when Temperance had said she wasn't coming. Her heart raced in dread at the idea of another team counting on her. Her stomach turned at the idea of asking the Davises over and over for rides home and to competitions, for permission to go to practice and competitions.

"Temperance, is something wrong?" Mrs. Liang reached toward her, but Temperance stepped back.

She realized she was shaking her head. "I can't."

"Are you sure? You'd have no problem with the math, and it might be a good social opportunity for you."

Temperance groped for her backpack and the right words. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Liang, I can't. It was kind of you to think of me. I have to go."

Amongst the cacophony of the lunchroom, she chewed a chicken sandwich and wondered if this had been Mrs. Liang's way of telling her that she needed work on interpersonal skills. Perhaps she was indicating that she thought Temperance was bad with people. She wondered how something that should be a compliment could make her feel insulted. She finished her lunch and showed her hall pass to the monitor.

Mr. Krupa nodded to her as she slipped into the lab. She gathered her materials and began the process of staining various surfaces and recording the results. The visual results were becoming even more developed than her rubbings of the fossils and etchings, and a swell of pride reached around the emptiness of doing the work without her dad by her side.

***

Temperance looked around the auditorium at the simple wooden pews where the same hundred people held red song books and sang--some beautifully, some appallingly off-key--while Mrs. Davis played a battered piano for all three weekly services.

Come, ye disconsolate
Where'er ye languish....
Fervently kneel...

Despite the words of the song, no one knelt like the Catholics did at Mass. She was bored enough by the service to wonder why.

This church had none of the arches, rose window, vaulted ceilings, and traditional nave of Holy Name Cathedral. She and Dad had talked about the messages and beliefs of people at each place of worship they visited. After their visit to the Cathedral, they had both commented on how Cardinal Bernardin's lesson on the sanctity of human life had made generalizations, though they had agreed the priest had a kind face and smile.

After every service, the Davises, like Dad had done, reviewed with the children what had been taught. An early discussion had focused on the importance of understanding the words being sung or said in church, and the need to say only exactly what one meant. Temperance had to admit that an expectation of memory of presentations and a focus on word meanings encouraged strong academic work, which could be good for the children.

Around the third service she had attended with the Davises, Temperance had brought a book to read, but Mr. Davis would not allow what he called "such disrespectful behavior." Instead, they were to sit, sing, be still, and listen.

Her visit with Dad to the Hindu Temple had included none of those activities. They had gone for the celebration of Navarathri, and Temperance had been pulled into celebratory dances, laughing as she'd watched Dad trying to keep up with the noisy, colorful joyousness. Shortly after that, they had merely toured the Bahá'í House of Worship. She had marvelled at the intricacy of the carvings inside and outside the nine-sided structure and Dad had pointed out the symbols of various faiths on the pillars.

This Sunday, Temperance looked around her. The building where the Davises worshiped, by contrast to most she had visited, was plain, almost homely. Despite the differences in structures and worship, Temperance saw similar expressions on people's faces as they prayed, sang, chanted, danced, or meditated. Dad had said it was a look of peace. These congregants sang of their conviction that a God was "a lamp unto their feet" and "there right beside" them. Instead of peace, Temperance felt nothing beside her but little Rachel and Joseph kicking their feet.

The preacher began speaking, and she twisted her hands, swallowed hard, and focused on identifying rhetorical devices Dad had taught her about during political debates. The preacher talked about how each person had a different talent to offer, how different gifts and tasks were given to men and women. Temperance felt her lips twist wryly; she had avoided using her gifts on Math Team to avoid Mr. Davis's ire.

The preacher was speaking of a lost sheep and how a "good shepherd" left the flock to rescue that one. He said that, like all good fathers, God brought rest to his children, so were they able to comfort all others.

Dad wasn't here. Her father, he wasn't comforting her, wasn't seeking her out, even though she was lost like that sheep. She couldn't even go out and try to search for him and Mom, to be the one trying to comfort or rescue them.

And there was no one to rescue her. Temperance blinked rapidly. She didn't cry.

Suddenly everyone was standing for the final song. The melody the song book said was an old English lay swelled around her, the voices of the congregation falling into harmony on the fourth word.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

No comfort. Not from their God. Not from the other deities of other beliefs. Not from her family. Just that emptiness. Temperance wondered if her inability to feel the comfort or presence of their God stemmed from her lack of belief. As the music surrounded her, she felt only sound waves, no deity. Perhaps this God's faithful only comforted members of their flock, like the shepherd in the story. Whatever the reason, the song's haunting beauty only made her feel abandoned.

She lifted her chin. She would take care of herself.

After services, there was more waiting. Temperance stood against a wall and watched members of the congregation mill about, chatting. Children ran, giggled, and had crawling races under the pews, slowing at warning glares from adults. After half an hour, Mrs. Davis asked Temperance to help gather the children, as dinner would be ready soon.

They piled into the van, then the house, and then everyone except Mrs. Davis changed out of their church clothes and set the table. Soon they were seated and Lydia and little Rachel said the prayer together.

Joseph handed her mashed potatoes, and she spooned some next to her chuck roast then handed the bowl to Mr. Davis.

The spoon clinked against his plate. "So, Temperance. Did you learn anything from today's lesson?"

It had been inevitable, she supposed. After every church service Mr. Davis grilled someone on the content and message of the sermon, Bible passages, and class topics. She'd thought she might be exempt, but apparently not. "Yes, I did."

"That's very good. Tell us about it."

All the children's eyes were on her, and she briefly considered giving a simple answer. A polite answer. But Lydia's wide brown eyes met hers, and anger flared in her cheeks at how this girl's--and Sarah's, and Rachel's--future was framed by the preacher's rigid religiosity, his insistence that the shepherd and God and fathers had to rescue them because they were incapable. She liked these girls, these smart, funny, kind, talented girls who had welcomed and accepted her, and who were going to be pigeonholed into "women's work" by their family's irrational beliefs.

Her jaw tightened, and she looked Mr. Davis in the eyes. "I learned that Paul was a misogynist and highly controlling. I learned that the passages in Timothy demanding that wives be submissive are part of the underpinning of Western culture's bias against women and removing their agency and basic human rights. I learned that there are only three people of the eight at this table whom your holy text deems fully worthy. This is clearly a method of exerting societal control by claiming the edicts come from a deity, and that ill will befall those who don't comply."

Now it was his face that was bright red. "That is blasphemy," he declared.

She raised her chin, still meeting his gaze. "Only if I believed in your God. Since I don't, I am not blaspheming."

"It is blasphemous to us. I will not have such talk at my table."

Her lip curled. "You asked me! Did you really doubt what I would say?"

His voice was low, and his eyes narrowed. "I thought you might have learned your place after our conversation about asking permission."

"My place?" She heard herself speaking more loudly. "You were enforcing control because I'm a woman?"

"You are a girl, and you are a child. You, and everyone else at this table, will respect my authority as the head of this household."

"Temperance, please," Mrs. Davis said softly.

Temperance paused. Took a breath. Blew it out. "Of course I respect your authority as a parental figure."

"And this is how you show it?"

"Paul, please. The children."

"No, Patty. They need to see how to respond to sacrilege."

Temperance sputtered. "Is that your self-righteous excuse? You are controlling! You expect your adult wife to treat you as king of your domain based on outdated writings. Your daughters deserve better than this. They deserve to be fully independent and autonomous, using their talents in the best way possible like your parable says." She considered, then added, "Well...if they marry, or date men, that is."

Mr. Davis slammed his palms on the table, shoved his chair back and stood. "Patty! This was your idea of mission service. What kind of influence have you brought into my house in front of my children?"

Temperance felt her anger narrow to a fine point of white fury aimed at him. "Your children? Your house? They are her children too...possibly more so since she gestated and birthed them. And how is this not your family's house? Are you really that egotistical that you would claim ownership of other people?"

"Look at what you've done!" Mr. Davis pointed, and Temperance surveyed the table.

John was frozen, glass in hand. Sarah stared at her plate, hands in her lap. Lydia, Joseph, and Rachel were crying.

Temperance quivered with rage. Joseph tugged at her sleeve. "Temperance, please don't be mad," he whispered. She still trembled, but as she looked at the quivering chins, red cheeks, and creased foreheads around the table, her shoulders sagged.

There was a scrape as Mr. Davis picked up her plate. "Leave our table, Temperance. Your parents may have allowed this kind of impertinence, but I am a responsible father and you will not teach such disrespect to my children."

Temperance stood, her height letting her look him directly in the eyes for a moment before she walked away, gritting her teeth to avoid saying more in her anger. The way the Davises used their own holy text to deny any legitimacy of not only other religious but the beliefs and practices of other Christians was enough to convince Temperance that peace amongst humans was a pretty fantasy.

She easily filled the afternoon with homework, using calculus theorems to do her physics even though it wasn't required, reading Emily Dickenson, and taking notes from the Early Chicago book she'd borrowed from the library. She was researching the use of old Indian trails for Chicago's diagonal streets--her topic for her History Fair paper.

"Temperance?"

She looked up. Sarah was peeking through a crack in the bedroom door. She smiled at the girl and gestured for her to come in. Sarah opened the door and took a single step inside.

"Daddy says to tell you it's time to leave for evening services."

Temperance nodded, though she rebelled inwardly against sitting and listening to another message like that morning's. It had been made clear, from the first time she had suggested that she would prefer to stay home, that church attendance was non-negotiable in this household.

Sarah turned to leave.

"Sarah? I'm sorry I ruined lunch."

"It's all right. Daddy explained that you are battling your upbringing, that good and evil are warring for your soul." She smiled and put a hand on Temperance's shoulder. "We know that sometimes you can't help it. We all prayed for you."

Temperance stared.

Sarah threw her arms around Temperance's neck. "I hope good wins for you. I like you. I'm glad you live here now." She let go. "Are you ready?"

Temperance nodded, unable to find words. Sarah smiled and skipped out the door. Temperance stacked her books neatly, then followed, empty-handed.

***
Chapter 10
***

Posting Schedule: This story has 26 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, b1uemorpho. 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 Ayiana2.

Songs sung at the Davises' church:
"Abide With Me, Fast Falls the Eventide" by Henry Francis Lyte/William Henry Monk (1847)
"Come, Ye Disconsolate" by Thomas Moore/Samuel Webbe (1816)
"Thy Word (is a Lamp Unto My Feet)" by Amy Grant/Michael W. Smith (1984)

Feedback is most assuredly welcome.

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my fic, abuse, brennan, bones, novel, fic, grief, abandonment

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