Maryanne’s fingernails gouged into her palms as she sat on the hard
wooden pew with her teeth clenched so tightly together her jaw ached. Even a
dog should not have been left alone in such a distraught state, yet Silas
Watson claimed to be a man of God.
At least once a week, their father found reason to beat them on their
bare buttocks. His clawed, birdlike hands were as strong as those of a
blacksmith as he ferociously wielded his cane. Sarah stood there, watching it all, with that
pious expression Maryanne loathed.
They must get away, but how? Could she perhaps get a position as a
domestic? Slaving away in a London
Maryanne, like a
dutiful daughter, stood next to her father and Sarah while the congregation
filed out of the church. Her heart felt so full of hatred and loathing, she
wondered why it did not explode.
3 comments:
Wow....what a wonderful excerpt. I have nail marks in my own hands from reading it. :) Great share, my friend.
Sounds like a great read from these few paragraphs!
Thanks Rhobin and Ginger.
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