The Bearing

She sat huddled in a pile of straw atop the old barn loft that was strewn with hay. She gently braided the strands together forming long ropes of parched silk like other girls braided their dolls' hair. She would have loved to own a doll. She would have been overly excited to get one for her 9th birthday, last week, if anyone had even known it was her birthday. But “Ma” and “Pa” never even knew it had come and passed. They never asked, and she never told.

Cradling the straw in her hands, passing it through her fingers, weaving it in and out made her feel calm, it was soothing, it was tangible, it was real. But it was also an escape. A chance to step away from the internal turmoil she was feeling, the unwantedness, the workload, and occasionally, the anger of “Pa.”

“Pa” wasn’t her real dad. Maryann had never even met her real father, and only had minimal memories of her mother, Gloria. Of the few memories she retained before arriving here in Nebraska, just outside of Plainview, she only really remembered smells. Her mother had a sweet and flowery scent, and her mother’s “friends” smelled like tobacco and alcohol. She was always told to “go outside and play” or “go to your room” when her mothers friends came over.

Playing outside was hard, because there were so many sad, dirty, and stinky children, and so many older children who had malicious looks on their faces. She preferred to go to her room, which she shared with her older sisters, and hide under the bed, where she normally slept, and look at pictures in the only book her house contained, Dr. Doolittle’s Zoo. She reveled in the fact that this book actually showed Dr. Doolittle expanding his zoo, after traveling afar, but not using cages, and that the animals would just stay there voluntarily, because he was a nice person. She wondered what that was like, and if she would ever meet someone like Dr. Doolittle.

MaryAnn was born in Chicago, Illinois, in 1920, inside the second story of an apartment complex smaller than the loft of the old barn she sat inside today. She was a happy child, as most children are, curious, inquisitive, and precocious. She didn’t know how to read, but she loved to look at pictures and imagine things. She would place herself in picture stories, insert her image into a painting or a drawing, and try to imagine what it was like to be somebody else, to be somewhere else, to just not be MaryAnn. And not to live in a cage.

The sun was getting ready to go down as she finished her last braid of straw. She was still reflecting on her new surroundings. She had only been here about a year, being one of the last children transported on the “Orphan Trains” removing the overcrowded street urchins from the large cities and depositing them in the middle of the country where children were needed for farms and families. It took her a while to get used to all of the different smells out here. The musty hay that spilled over the loft in the old barn, the stench of manure in the field that housed the cows, and the wet dogs shaking themselves off in the creek. Despite the openness of the land she now was free to roam, it was still a cage to her. The apartment had been small and cramped, the train was small and cramped, and her room in the main house was small and cramped, but more than that, her dreams and aspirations were small and cramped.

She had asked Pa twice if he would teach her how to read. The first time he just said, “Girls don’t need to learn readin’.” The second time she asked him, she found herself flying across the room and smashing into the old stone-worked fireplace, with a lip so fat she could barely talk without pain. Ma said nothing. No words of comfort. She didn’t rush over and scoop MaryAnn up in her arms and coo over her bloodied lip, bruised shoulder, emotional pain of being accosted. No, Ma just bowed her head, and continued washing the dishes, careful not to break one, lest she end up with a fat lip too.

That incident made it plain and clear in MaryAnn’s head, that Pa was not a nice man, and that there was no one here to defend her. Not that there ever really was anyone, as her real mother ignored her mostly, and pretended she didn’t exist, especially when her “friends” were over. Her older sister, Helen, protected her though. When she was hungry, Helen would find her food. When she was scared, Helen would read to her. Only Helen was barely 11, and didn’t know how to read either, but she would pick up a big book that had no pictures, just lots of words in it, and would tell her stories that she would make up on the spot. MaryAnn knew she wasn’t reading them, because she would ask for the same stories again and they were always slightly different. Helen couldn’t read either, but she could tell some wonderful stories that always made MaryAnn feel safe.

Sometimes, there were more than just Ma, Pa and MaryAnn for dinner. If it was harvest season, several of the workers would stay for dinner. There were a couple of other children that had stayed a short while here, but they never stayed long. There was a young man, about 16, who was here for a few weeks, and then disappeared. Another girl was here when she first arrived, and MaryAnn didn’t really like her, as she was much older, and really fat in her belly. Ma and Pa had rowed about her, and in the end, she left as well. MaryAnn did recall the night she had left, she had turned to look at MaryAnn and the only thing in her eyes was sadness. Sadness, and something else that MaryAnn didn’t know the right term for at the moment.

Her mind wandered as she made her way back to the main house. She skipped around a few stray chickens and bounced inside the kitchen. Ma and Pa were alone at the table as MaryAnn attempted to make her presence as small as possible when she slid into her seat. She noticed that Ma had a large bruise forming on her face, and that she could barely hold her right arm steady. Pa looked up and smiled at her. It was probably the first time he had ever done so. MaryAnn eyed the large snifter of brandy in front of Pa’s plate, and the half empty bottle on the mantle of the stone-worked fireplace. Ma didn’t so much as glance at her when MaryAnn took her place at the table. She waited for Ma to serve her dinner and she noticed that standing up was difficult for Ma, and she limped a little as she moved closer to MaryAnn to dish out some pot roast.

Ma bent over close to MaryAnn and whispered, oh so subtly, “sleep in the barn tonight.” Closed-lipped and faint, Pa didn’t notice. There was a fierce yet calming look in her eye, similar to the one Helen had when she would “read” to her. It was the first time that she ever felt something like “trust” from Ma. Not knowing what was going on, MaryAnn gave the slightest hint of a nod, also unnoticed by Pa, who was ignoring his pot roast and staring dreamily at his brandy.

“I got you something.” Pa said, unexpectedly. He wasn’t looking at Ma.

MaryAnn was daunted, thinking it to be something like a new chore or job to do, and the last thing she expected was a box being placed on the table in front of her. Her eyes slid upward to Ma, who looked away, almost in horror or revulsion, but MaryAnn didn’t know those words.

She looked into the swollen and pink faced man with bloodshot-eyes she’d called Pa for the past year, and felt a fear so deep it interred her soul.

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” He slurred.

MaryAnn opened the box with a trepidacious hand. It was only about a foot long, and the top slid off with ease. There was a recycled bow she had seen the previous Christmas on it, the same one that was used on the only present she had received that year, which was a pair of gardening gloves. Underneath the lid was a baby doll, long full silky blonde hair, wearing a onesie covered in embroidered flowers. Her heart leapt in anticipation! How did he know? How could he have understood her unspoken desire! She glanced at Ma who was now facing the kitchen window, her grey hair pulled tight in a bun, the blooming bruise gleaming on her cheek, and her eyes of pain and danger desperately looking away from MaryAnn.

Pa said, “That’s going to be your reward, for one additional chore per week.” He looked at her slyly and side-eyed, however, MaryAnn, focused on the doll, didn’t notice it. All fear had dropped away and she finally felt as if she were being rewarded for her unending dedication to this family, this life! This cage, her weak heart murmured, but it was lost among the desire to braid the baby's hair, sew her new clothes, feed her, take care of her, nurture her, and show her what a real mom should be.

He pulled the box away from her, and replaced the lid. “Finish your dinner, and then head up to your bed. I’ll give her to you there.” A sinking swoop filled her stomach as she noticed tears begin to bead in Ma’s eyes. She diligently ate her dinner, noticing that Pa never touched his, and Ma was silent for the remainder of the meal, though she did limp over to the mantle to retrieve the brandy and refill Pa’s glass.

The excitement of having her own dolly pleased her so much that after doing the dishes with Ma, who was rigid and still in pain, she finally remembered the faint request that Ma had given her. She was torn between the dolly and her Ma, she was torn between accepting praise and gifts from Pa, and she wasn’t sure what she should do. Pa sat at the kitchen table drinking his Brandy while they cleaned up, never giving them another moment of conversation between them.

MaryAnn headed up to her room, but something didn’t feel right. Ma was very silent, and almost sobbing, though Pa was in front of her heading towards the room. Throwing caution to the wind, MaryAnn said, “I think I’ll visit the outhouse before I come up.” Pa looked a little daunted, but Ma visibly relaxed, and then tightened. MaryAnn was barely two steps out the front door before she felt a sharp stabbing pain on the left side of her body. She reached down to feel hot slick warmth which she realized belatedly must be her own blood, flowing around an iron pitchfork protruding from her abdomen. The removal of it drew one of her last gurgling breaths, but her final fleeting glimpse before she closed her eyes for good, was Ma standing over her at the side of the creek. She looked so much like Helen that it scared her. Ma said, “Now, you can be free. No more cages.” And she released MaryAnn’s body into the creek, where she floated peacefully until she fell asleep.