Ginny lowered her lashes, concealing her distaste for the woman who thought she was better than her dad. Her dad had showered her with enough love and self-worth that she was able to see through the thrall of fear that her foster mother was trying to instill in her.
Sliding off the bed, Ginny went to the chest to take out an armful of clothes and dumped them on the bed. She was going to the closet to get her jacket when she turned around at the sound of malicious laughter.
“Going somewhere?”
“I’m leaving.”
“You might want to think about that,” she said snidely.
“You can’t stop me. All I have to do is tell the sheriff I won’t stay here anymore.”
Lisa shrugged. “You’re right. I’m fully aware the sheriff has a soft spot for you.”
Ginny was feeling afraid again. Lisa was too confident that she could get her to do anything she wanted. Telling herself not to listen to her foster mother, she started edging back toward the door. It might be cold outside, but it was worth continuing without a jacket rather than listening to Lisa. She would make the sheriff get it back for her.
“Of course, not only will the sheriff be looking for a new place for you but all those small brothers of yours.”
“Why would he have to do that?”
“I’ve seen your older brother around town with them hanging on his side. He seems overwhelmed right now, doesn’t he? Oh, I forgot you haven’t seen him since you left. If I noticed how hard he’s having it, then it’s only a matter of time before social services notice it also. Naturally, I would hate to involve myself in these matters, but for you, I would make an exception.”
Lisa’s veiled threat stopped her in her tracks.
“The sheriff won’t let you do that.”
“How can he stop me? He has to do what the judge tells him.” Lisa tilted her head curiously. “You’re very sure the sheriff will step in. Why would he care? You’re not the only child that the court has ordered him to place.”
Ginny trembled at the way she was looking at her.
“I’ve seen you in the diner with him a few times after church. Now that I think of it, you also sit by him during service. Maybe I should report someone else to social services.”
Sickened at what Lisa was implying, Ginny wanted to run from the room and never see her again, but she knew if she did, Lisa would vindictively take it out on the sheriff and Silas.
“I hate you.”
The woman lifted her lips in a satisfied smile. “I couldn’t care less. I don’t like you either, so we’re even.” Standing, she smoothed her dress down then moved toward her to tower over her in heels that had Ginny forcing to look up at her.
“I’m perfectly willing to call a truce. It’s all up to you. Am I going to the kitchen to get you a trash bag, or are you going to try harder to make me happy?”
There was no way she was going to make Lisa happy unless she admitted the truth. “I’m not any good at math, no matter how hard I try.”
“I’m not surprised. Your teacher informed me that none of the Colemans have a track record to be proud of in school. Taking that into consideration, I asked a friend of mine to tutor you. I expect you to be on your best behavior around him. Don’t disappoint me twice, Ginny. You won’t like me if you do.
“Please brush your hair before you come down to dinner. It’s a mess.” Using a rose-tipped nail, she flicked her ponytail off her shoulder. “I’ve made an appointment for you with my hairdresser. I think a shorter cut would suit you much better.”
Ginny worriedly touched her hair. “I like my hair long.”
“It makes you look trashy. We’re trying to get away from that, aren’t we?”
Only the thought of her brothers and Papa Will had her nodding her head acceptably. “Yes, Mrs. West.”
Ginny turned to watch her foster mother leave. Then she shakily went to the bathroom to brush her hair. Dry-eyed, she looked at herself in mirror. “This all your fault,” she told her reflection. “You deserve having to live with the mean witch. I hate you so much!” She jerkily picked up her brush and pulled the comb through her hair, uncaring if she tore out strands. “She’s right; you’re stupid. So … stupid.” Over and over, she slid the brush through her hair until it lay smooth and could be pulled back into a ponytail.
Washing her face and hands, she then reached for the hand towel that was neatly arranged by the sink. Patting her face dry, she lowered the towel, revealing her reflection again.
“Please remember …,” she begged herself helplessly. “Please remember ….”