The Whip

Read The Whip for Free Online

Book: Read The Whip for Free Online
Authors: Karen Kondazian
Tags: General Fiction, Westerns
sky.
    Charlotte, face-up under him, giggled. “Look. Look.” She pointed at one of the butterflies.
    In the moment that Lee was distracted she managed to wriggle free. “Can’t catch me,” she taunted, and teetered away.
    But Lee had lost interest in their game. He was still staring at the butterfly, fascinated. It was hovering just over him. It had orange translucent wings, veined with black. The wings were glossy, like paper soaked in oil, but also—he had just sensed—there was featheriness there. He wanted to see the wings even more close up. He wanted to touch it.
    Charlotte looked back over her shoulder at him and came to a halt. She trundled back, disappointed. “Lee,” she said. “What is it?”
    “Look up,” he whispered.
    She saw the butterfly hovering just over his head and jumped towards it, reaching out with her pudgy little hand.
    “No,” hissed Lee between clenched teeth. “You must not touch it. If you touch them, they die.”
    She looked back at him, surprised by the thought that her touch could make something die. But regardless of the danger, she defiantly stuck out her finger.
    “Silly baby Charlotte,” said Lee. The butterfly was leaving anyway.
    But no, it wasn’t. It was moving over to the spot just above Charlotte’s head.
    “Don’t move,” he whispered.
    The butterfly hovered for an instant before spiraling down to her hand in a single smooth arc and, to the absolute surprise and delight of both of them, alighted on her finger.
    Charlotte and Lee stared at the little creature, amazed.
    Then, just as quick, the butterfly floated off her finger towards the sky.
    “See. See it didn’t die,” she said back to Lee.

Nine
    One morning, just after dawn, Miss Isabelle Hadenappeared at the orphanage. She was a gaunt, carrot-topped woman with high moral zeal. One might picture her marching out of some misty Dickensian orphanage of collective nightmare. As she clipped her way down the corridor, her footsteps became more and more determined, her face drying up and her lips tightening. She was attended by the scurrying headmaster. He was carrying a sheaf of paper…scribbling notes while she barked out instructions. She turned to frown at him for a moment. “Please man, keep up.”
    They continued down the corridor until they descended upon the dormitory. She paused in the doorway and surveyed the still sleeping children with pity.
    The fleshy woman appeared behind them laden with her cleaning equipment.
    The headmaster turned to Miss Haden. “Allow me to introduce one of my staff. This is Parthenia. She does the general caring for and cleaning up and looking after of our unfortunate wards.”
    Parthenia gave a timid smile.
    “Parthenia, this is Miss Haden, who has been sent by our beneficent new owner, Mr. Dyer, to assist us in our efforts here.”
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance, mum,” said Parthenia, with a bob that thickened her girth.
    Miss Haden ignored her. Looking at the headmaster she said, “Do the boys or the girls sleep in here?”
    “Why the…” he stammered. “The younger ones…they all do.”
    “Shocking,” uttered Miss Haden. She turned on her heel and clicked on up the corridor. The headmaster scurried after.
    “I can see I’ve arrived not a moment too soon,” she continued. “I shall have to inform my superiors of conditions here. And of all the frightful disorganization I have observed.”
    “But, Miss Haden, we—”
    “The first and most important thing to accomplish is that separate quarters are to be constructed for the boys. All children will learn to read, and they will all attend church services every Sunday. And the girls are to be instructed in the domestic arts, that they may someday prove of value to their husbands.”
    “Forgive my asking, but why the sudden interest in—”
    “The state of Massachusetts wishes it. President Madison wishes it. Mr. Dyer wishes it. It is important that we educate our youth…even the lowly. Of course,

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