Curtis, part twenty-four

While she had yet to develop any particular emotional connection to her new husband Curtis’s 12 children, having only just met them a day earlier, the child’s scream seized her mothering instinct. She was in the living room with her husband and one of his older sons about to launch into an argument, and immediately all thoughts of the disrespectful disregard being perpetrated toward her were replaced by a child’s urgent need.

She raced into the kitchen to find Curtis’s oldest girl carrying the youngest girl, only three, toward the sink. The older girl was holding the forearm of the little one in one hand and pointing the hand toward the sink.

“Water!” she shouted, and one of the other children started pumping water. By the time Leta reached them, the older one had the little one’s hand under the running water.

“What happened?” Leta asked.

“I had her take some of the apples to put in the pot. She dropped one, and burned herself picking it up,” the older girl answered.

“Let me see,” Leta instructed and reached for the child’s hand.

“No!” the little girl screamed and pulled her hand away.

“Now, Willa, you know she needs to see it. Let’s show her,” the older girl directed. She firmly forced the child’s hand toward Leta.

Leta took it gently in her own for examination. The palm was red, and the fingers a slightly deeper red. There was no indication of blistering.

Tears were still flowing down the girl’s cheeks, and she was whimpering, partly in fear, Leta suspected.

“Well, now, that’s not too bad at all,” she said. “It’s going to sting for a little while.”

She had the older girl set the little one onto the table, filled a bowl with water and instructed the child to keep her hand in the bowl.

“Do you think you can do that?” Leta asked.

The little girl just stared at her.

“Sure she can,” the older girl said confidently, as she followed Leta’s directions with her baby sister. Initially, she had to exert some effort to separate herself from the clinging child.

“You know, when my son was little, he burned himself several times,” Leta said. “When he got excited about things, he would forget to think, and then he burned himself. But he always healed and so will you. You’ll be just fine. You just sit here, all right?”

The little girl nodded. But when her older sister pulled away, she grabbed her and started to cry again.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the older girl apologized with a strained look.

“That’s all right,” Leta said gently. “You just stay her with her for a little while. We’ll manage.”

“So, Curtis…” Leta continued turning her attention to the children’s father whom she had presumed followed her into the kitchen to investigate the child’s scream. She was surprised to find that he wasn’t in the room.

“Curtis?”

To be continued.