<< Go Back

Mara In the Face of Battle

By Blossom Turner

Order Now!

Chapter 1
September 1985

“Get down here, Mara.” The piercing shrill of Mother’s voice split the morning air and reverberated off the walls of the steep staircase.
A shudder worked its way up fifteen-year-old Mara’s spine as she turned over and placed her pillow over her head. Uncomfortable springs squeaked beneath her every move. Lumps and bumps jabbed into her flesh from the mattress of the small fold-away cot that threatened to close each time she got up. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the day or the night. Was this really her life? The two years she’d lived peacefully with her father and stepmother, Carissa, in San Francisco had offered a healing respite from her mother’s demeaning and spiteful tone. But Daddy was dead, and she was back in Canada. Back to the torture.
She’d been so certain of God’s directive to share Jesus with her family when she returned to the sleepy town of Kelowna, British Columbia, but now one month later, she was second-guessing everything. Mother’s constant barrage left her emotionally battered. She had not realized just how much Carissa’s love had constantly built her up. Now under the tyranny of her mother’s obvious hatred, the strength she had felt when leaving California was diminishing daily. Her siblings did not need her. Donald had gone off to university, Dorothy no longer lived at home, and Darlene and Diana had the downstairs bedrooms and rarely talked to her. Debbie had one attic bedroom and Daisy got the other. Mara’s tiny cot was situated in the narrow hall between the two bedrooms.
Though able to stand up for herself enough that her mother had not laid another hand on her, Mara had not accounted for the other ways in which her mother could inflict pain. Her words were pure poison. Though Mara prayed constantly and tried not to take in what her mother spoke over her of being a worthless piece of humanity, she seemed to be losing that battle. And Mother’s influence on the others remained powerful. Mara was as abandoned as an orphaned child. Even Daisy, her kindest sister, was standoffish, like some threat hung over her head.
Mara had better not linger. Mother was as impatient and cruel as ever. She swung her injured leg out of the bed first, and carefully sat up. How could one month feel so long? At this rate, the three years until she was eighteen, graduated, and back in California, would be sheer agony. A feeling of dread nipped the back of her neckline as a full-body shiver sliced through her.
“Mara.” Another scream funneled up the staircase.
At the sound of her mother’s agitation, Mara fumbled with her housecoat overtop her PJs, not daring to take the time to get dressed. She slipped on her mask covering the scars her mother hated so much. The very mother who had locked her out in the black of night to be mauled by that bear. “I’m coming.” Mara tried hard to keep her voice upbeat. The last thing she wanted was to give away her inner fear. Oh, God help me. Give me courage. Strength.
The staircase took considerable care. Debbie opened the dilapidated door at the bottom and breezed up past her without making eye contact. Her fine blond hair flew behind her like feathers in the wind. Mara stepped into the kitchen.
Mother whirled around from cleaning the counters. Her house dress hung like a rag over her large girth. “What? You’re not even dressed?”
“It takes me longer…and this sounded…urgent.”
“It is urgent. Apparently, a social worker is coming to do an impromptu visit, but she’s lost and needed directions, so there’s time.” Her mother’s smile held a sneer.
“Time? For what?” Mara’s hand automatically reached into her housecoat pocket for her tape recorder. Her fingers fumbled about in the empty space. In her haste, she’d forgotten to slip it in. Now there would be no way of proving whatever sinister plan her mother was up to.
“A few ground rules. You give as little information as possible. And I’ve sent Debbie up to get rid of that cot. All that nosey meddler needs to know is that you share a room with Daisy.”
Mara gulped back her fear. Her tape recorder was hidden under her mattress, for she had not trusted that Mother wouldn’t go through her suitcase. “I will not lie.”
“You will do as I say or pay the consequences.”
Mara took a deep breath in. “I will not—”
“Mom. Mom.” Debbie’s footsteps thundered down the staircase, and she burst into the kitchen. “Look what I found.” Mara’s tape recorder dangled from her fingers.
Panic wrapped its tentacles around Mara’s chest and squeezed tight.
One look and Mother flew across the room with her hand lifted. She caught herself. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice bruise or fat lip to show off, so you can run back to Carissa…that Richie Witchie who’s spoiled you rotten. How dare you bring that contraption into my home?”
Mara took a deep breath but didn’t move an inch or cower under her mother’s vicious glare. “It’s for my safety. After that bear attack and what happened in the hospital—”
Debbie dropped the recorder on the table. “What happened at the hospital?”
Mother’s face twisted into pure hatred. “Lies. Lies.”
It didn’t escape Mara’s notice that Debbie didn’t ask about the bear attack where she had been locked out of the house. She only asked about what she didn’t know…Mother’s attempt to murder Mara while she lay helpless on a hospital bed.
“Get out of here.” Mother pointed her finger at Debbie.
“But—”
“Out.”
Debbie rolled her eyes but did what she was told.
Mara stepped closer to her mother. “You know I’m not lying, and I will not lie to the social worker today either. But if you allow me to share a room with Daisy as of right now, then it won’t be a lie.”
“Why, you conniving, good-for-nothing—”
“And I want to use the phone.”
“No. You don’t pay the bill. And if you think of tattling…I don’t let the other girls use it either.”
“But you do.” Mara worked hard to keep the frustration out of her voice. She was not sure how far she could push before an eruption happened. And more than anything else, even though her life was horrible, she wanted to be in God’s will and have a chance to share Jesus with her family. If Mother lost her temper now, she’d have a ticket home. A strong urge to make that happen came upon her.
“Are you sure about that?” Mother’s chin lifted.
Be still and know that I am God.
Mara took a deep breath in. How inconvenient to hear from God in that moment. All she wanted to do was go back to Carissa, her half-brother Jonathan, and boyfriend Lucas. And she knew she could push her mother to the brink of no return.
“Have you actually seen them use the phone, since you don’t want to tell a lie and all?” Mother had a sneer in her voice.
“It’s in your bedroom. But even with the door shut, I can hear.”
“Really?” Mother had a smug look on her face. “Not one of your sister’s will corroborate that story. And since you’re all concerned about the truth, I’ll tell Miss Snoopy when she arrives that you’ve been free to write letters, which you can’t deny.”
“You may have let me send a letter, but I know you’re destroying my incoming mail.”
“Good luck proving that.” Mother reached toward the table and picked up the recorder. “You’ll never see this again. Now go get dressed.” Mother flung her hand as if she was shooing away a pesky gnat. “And if you dare bring another recorder into this home or whisper a word about that little smack I gave you upon arrival, that shall be nothing compared to what you’ll get. Besides, you won’t be trusted after all your sisters deny it—so think twice before you speak.”
Mara turned toward the stairs. The only way she’d be believed was to either have a wound to show or a recording to share. The latter could no longer happen, and there’d be no help from her sisters. Mother was always a step ahead. She dare not risk saying anything to the case worker. A lump caught in her throat. Loneliness wedged its way deeper into her aching heart.
With not a call or letter from either Carissa or Lucas this past month, surely, Mother was destroying the letters and hanging up on the calls. If only she could prove it. But rather than have Mother read her private mail, Mara had recently written and asked them not to write hoping to get a moment at home alone to phone collect. So far, when Mother left the house, her bedroom door was locked. The other girls had the key and used the phone at will, always locking the bedroom door behind them. The fact they all were accomplices to the torment was not something Mara had prepared herself for. That truth ripped her heart wide open.
 

Order Now!

<< Go Back