Alora Funk- The Deliverance: Book 1 Read online

  Chapter 3

  The Sanibels-

  The next day, eleven more kids came and Theresa had to call in help. A large, plump woman joined her in caring for us. She was very bubbly and loved to give us giant bear hugs, often squishing me close to her arm pits and overpowering body odor. She would wrap her thick arms around me, feeling as if I was getting sucked up in her folds. I actually liked the sensation, for it was rather comforting to be so enwrapped by someone like that. Her name was Martha. She was a woman with much darker skin than mine always bragging about her southern heritage.

  …

  I had been at the crisis nursery for about a week when several people showed up, including Mr. Scary. They had brought a psychologist along. He took me alone in one of the upstairs rooms, introducing himself as Robin. His eyes were cynical and his nose straight and long. His hair was so short, he almost looked bald. Robin had a slender body, looking like skin covered bones. He tried to play games with me. When I didn’t respond, he brought out tests, placing them in front of me with a pencil. He constantly gabbed nonstop, his words getting nowhere with me. I vacantly stared at him with his emerald green aura.

  Eventually satisfied, he took me back downstairs to converse with the others about me.

  When I got close to the table, Mr. Scary stood up and directed me toward a very small chair. It must have been designed for a three year old, for I could hardly fit in it.

  “What did you learn?” a man asked the psychologist.

  “I am going to have to take this case back to my team and further evaluate it,” Robin responded.

  “What score did she get on the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children?”

  “It was invalid. I was unable to assess a score,” Robin replied.

  “What about the WJ III ACH test?” I had no idea what Robin was talking about. He jabbered about test names that had no meaning to me.

  “Nothing. This subject has not given me any indication she can process speech. I am not sure if she is mute, or maybe she has a low level of cognition. I think the next step is to have her hearing checked. I can tell she can hear, but the question is, how well? Another theory I am forming, is maybe she has never been spoken to before. I have read all of the reports. There isn’t much on her.”

  “Well, we can’t sit here all day. We must quickly make a decision, for I have to be in court in an hour for the Furgesson Case,” Mr. Scary said.

  “I say we place her,” one man said. “This kid has been through a lot. The best thing we can offer her at this time is a stable family where she can learn, heal, and grow.”

  Again the arguing continued until Mr. Scary said, “Oh no, I am late for court. I am late for court!” he yelled. “Do you know what they are going to do to me?” he grabbed his large brief case and pushed away his chair.

  “I am very serious, no one make any changes with the kid yet. We will wait for that test.” He turned from everyone and ran out the front door.

  …

  Two days later, I was being shoved into the black van driven by Mr. Scary. This time I didn’t fight. The drive felt never ending as we traveled on a road where all the cars were going way too fast, including us, zooming dangerously close to one another, me closing my eyes because the panic of death felt so real. Finally, Mr. Scary switched roads and we headed up between two mountains. The car slowed a bit, daring me to open my eyes again, noticing how the mountains towered over us, ready to swallow us at any moment. It thrilled me and alarmed me because I didn’t trust the mountains and yet felt protected by them. Very soon we pulled into a small town named Mantua.

  We hadn’t gone far when the road was stopped by a reservoir. I was taken in by how beautiful the area was. Trees lined the rocky shore as grey water lapped at the edge. The community was nestled on every side by mountains, reminding me of a bowl. There were a few people fishing around the banks, casting out their lines and reeling them in. A sense of serenity filled me, relaxing me. I wanted to go to the water, but Mr. Scary turned left, and very quickly pulled into what looked like a yellow church. He parked his car parallel to the grounds and jumped out, without even bidding me to come, forgetting I didn’t know how to undo my seat belt. When he reached the side door of the building alone, he had to come back and get me. Grumbling, he flew open my door and released the lock.

  “Come,” he mumbled as he turned his back to me and hastened to the door. Full of curiosity, I followed a ways behind him. He pounded, not letting up until the door opened.

  “One knock would be fine,” the man said from behind the door.

  “Hello, are you Mr. Sanibel?” Mr. Scary asked. He ran his hands through his scarce, brown hair. Mr. Scary wasn’t very tall, not too much higher than me. He looked rather short next to Mr. Sanibel.

  “Depends,” the man replied.

  “Well, I am Mr. Cox from Child Protective Services, and my business is with Mr. Sanibel.”

  “I’m him,” Mr. Sanibel said scratching his thick thigh. He was wearing a pair of boxers dangling below his knees with a dirty, white T-shirt on top.

  “You don’t seem like you are expecting me. Are you prepared for the delivery of Jane Doe?”

  “Yes, I am- sorry. I thought you were selling Girl Scout Cookies. We have already had three different girls come by soliciting today. Must be the season.”

  Mr. Scary looked down at his suit, clearly offended, as if he thought he was above a father who helped his kids sell cookies. I wondered if Mr. Scary had kids. I shuddered. If he did, I pitied them.

  Mr. Sanibel kept his large body filling the door frame. An easy task considering his height and mass. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a very round belly. It was tight and almost looked like a ball was trapped inside. His color band was light blue. He stood there for a moment, almost challenging Mr. Cox. After Mr. Cox cleared his throat, Mr. Sanibel moved out of the way.

  We entered what I thought was a church, except it wasn’t. The inside had been remodeled into a home. It must have been done a while ago, because all of the walls and carpet were worn and soiled. We walked through a long dining area until we came to an open living room, with quaint, mismatched furniture. Although the place was tidy, the tattered furniture and stained carpet gave it a dirty feeling.

  To the back of the room was a small hall. A split staircase climbed to the second floor. There was a bedroom behind the lower staircase.

  “Peggy!” Mr. Sanibel yelled out. He had a hefty set of lungs, and his hollering pounded against my eardrums. I covered them, attempting to block out his sound.

  A few children trickled in, but Peggy didn’t show up.

  Mr. Sanibel added three more decimals to his yelling. “Peggy. Woman, get in here now!”

  Despite my hand placement, I thought my ears were going to explode from his volume. Some of the children in the room giggled and snickered. Peggy still didn’t show up.

  “Well, sit down, sit down.” He motioned to the couch. “I will go see what that woman is up to.” I was left alone with Mr. Scary in the strange room. Uncomfortable, I wanted to go back to the crisis nursery.

  Mr. Scary eyed the faded floral couch, looking highly reluctant to sit on it, as if it would soil his cheap suit. I didn’t care, so I plopped down into its scraggly cushions. I had anticipated them being fluffy, but instead the springs jabbed into my rear, sending a surge of pain through me.

  Multiple kids came in and out of the room. They all seemed very interested in us. There were more kids than the crisis nursery had. I wondered if I was at another nursery.

  After ten minutes of waiting, Mr. Scary seemed very restless, his legs jiggling up and down as he stiffly sat. Finally, unable to bare it anymore, he snarled, “Sanibels, I need you in here, pronto. I have other business to attend to.”

  Mr. Sanibel came back in, munching on a hotdog, mustard spilling down his cheeks. He looked embarrassed to be caught eating, so he shoved the remai
nder of the dog in his mouth. It was a huge bite, and his cheeks popped out as he overstuffed them. I had to turn away because it was revolting to watch him eat. Mr. Scary glared.

  Mr. Sanibel went over to a highly stained recliner and sunk into it, madly chewing at his wad of food. “I can’t find the wife. Go ahead without her,” he said through the massive amount of food in his mouth.

  Mr. Scary replied in disgust, “Mr. Sanibel, I can’t do that. Are you wasting my time? Do you want Jane Doe, or not?”

  Mr. Sanibel took a hard swallow, almost looking as if the hotdog was going to lodge in his throat. He coughed a little then said, “Fine, I will go find her.” He left the room again. Within a minute, he returned with Mrs. Sanibel.

  She had a head full of frizzy brown hair, flying everywhere. A flower was pinned to the side making her look foolish. She was rather plump, like her husband, but not quite as big. Something about her face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Maybe I had known her before. I felt like I recognized her deep, dark brown eyes, but I didn’t know how I would. She wore a filthy apron, which she wiped her wet hands on before she extended them to Mr. Scary. He lifted his chin and thrust his nose in the air, ignoring her outstretched gesture. She lingered there, waiting for him to shake it.

  Mrs. Sanibel had a violet aura, while Mr. Sanibel had a dark blue one. At the time, I remember wishing I better understood the color bands. I was beginning to realize they were a reflection of the mood of a person, but I wasn’t entirely sure what each color meant. Before the Sanibels, I hadn’t even seen violet or dark blue. Two more colors I would eventually have to identify. Mr. Scary always seemed to be a dark orange. He constantly seemed to be agitated and mad. I had learned at the crisis nursery that anyone with light blue to brilliant blue seemed to be kind and loving. I didn’t know if it meant love. During that time, I was often golden yellow, yellow, or green. I hadn’t yet figured my colors out yet because I didn’t know how to label my feelings.

  Finally, Mr. Scary snapped at her, “Please sit down so we can get started.”

  Mrs. Sanibel shot her husband a wrinkled faced glance. I could tell she didn’t like being snubbed by Mr. Scary. Her husband returned it with a warning in his eyes, probably telling her to keep her mouth shut and take her seat, because with a huff –as she turned to sit- her big rump smeared across Mr. Scary’s face. It looked deliberate. He gasped, as if a rotten rat had just landed in his lap. I think he wanted to hurt her, maybe bop her on the head like he had done to me awhile back. She turned, giving a cheesy smile and sat right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, sandwiching him between her and I. I would later learn Mrs. Sanibel was a very bold woman, and everything she did, she did with reason. Mr. Scary slid his body away from her, coming closer to me.

  He rustled through his papers, saying, “I have somewhere to be, so we are going to make this quick. Julie was supposed to have gone over some paper work with you already. Really, all I need to do is to deliver Jane Doe and make sure you have a private room for her.” Several dirty kids came and sat on the floor in front of Mr. Scary. He stared at Mr. Sanibel, probably hoping he would send the kids away, but he didn’t. “She does have her own room, right?” he continued when it was clear the kids were going to stay at his feet.

  “Of course, Mr. Cox. We have done everything that was outlined for us. We are good and ready to take in Jane,” Mrs. Sanibel said as she turned to me and gave me a friendly smile. I stared at her, without emotion.

  “I need to inspect that room.” Mr. Scary said. Everyone sat there for several minutes in silence, as if he had said nothing. I could tell he was beyond ready to leave. “Now!” he finally shouted.

  “Oh, yeah, a course.” Mr. Sanibel said. Then in his loud voice, he yelled. “Angela, come show this man Jane’s new room.”

  “I was rather hoping you would,” Mr. Scary said tartly.

  Mr. Sanibel rubbed his thick knees. “Oh, the wife and I can’t, because we both have bad knees and Jane’s room is upstairs, but don’t worry, Angela is a good kid, and she will give you a good tour.” We waited several minutes for Angela to show up. Mr. Scary taped his pen on the piles of paper. Long sighs escaped his mouth.

  “I really have somewhere to be going,” he spat out.

  “My apologies,” Mrs. Sanibel said. She leaned closer to Mr. Scary and in a shrill voice screamed right in his ear, “Angela, NOW!” Mr. Scary’s hands flew to his ears while he squeezed his eyes closed. Mrs. Sanibel looked at him and smiled. She must have been pretty pleased with herself.

  Angela eventually came into the room. “What?!” she said with some attitude. She looked rather tall. I really couldn’t distinguish ages during that point in my life, but I would learn she was thirteen. She had long brown hair to her waist. She dressed plain, but nicely, wearing a light layer of makeup, which looked pretty on her round face. Her eye were brown, like her mom and dad’s. She had a light pink aura, yet another new color.

  “Will you give Mr. Cox and your new sister a tour of the bedroom?”

  Angela looked over at me and grinned. “That’s her,” she whispered to her mom, as if I wasn’t there.

  Mrs. Sanibel smiled. “Sure is. Can you be extra nice to her?”

  “Of course,” Angela replied in a sweet voice. “Let’s go see your room.” She looked at Mr. Scary and squinted her nose. I wondered if he looked as scary to her as he did to me. Angela turned to her mom with her eyes pleading not to be left alone with Mr. Scary. Mrs. Sanibel smiled at Angela then looked away, leaving Angela on her own.

  Mr. Scary stood, but I didn’t, so he reached down and grabbed my arm, pulling me up. “You must be quick,” he said to Angela. “I have somewhere I must be.” He always seemed to be in such a hurry.

  Angela rolled her eyes and walked off. Mr. Scary followed, pulling me along. We went up the stairs and found several rooms on the top floor. All the doors were closed except one. Angela pointed into the room.

  “That’s Jane’s room,” she said. “Have fun.” She left us there as she turned and ran back down the stairs.

  “These people,” Mr. Scary muttered. We stood in the doorway facing the inside of the room. It had a twin bed to the left and an upright dresser to the right, with most of the drawers looking broken. On the bed was a well-worn quilt with many stains. The colors on it probably had been bright when it was first made, but now rather dingy. The walls had multiple layers of wallpaper all over. The carpet was thick green shag. The room smelt stale.

  “Lucky you,” he said. He grabbed my arm and dragged me down the stairs and into the family room. He dropped the pile of papers in Mrs. Sanibel’s lap. “My card is stapled on the top. If you have any questions, call me.” Mrs. Sanibel snorted.

  The Sanibel’s watched as Mr. Scary left the way we had come in.

  “The nerve of that man,” Mrs. Sanibel said before we heard the side door close. She had said it rather loudly, surely wanting him to hear her.

  “He was a little pea of a man, wasn’t he?” Mr. Sanibel said in a snort-like laugh.

  A little girl came over and tugged at my shirt. “Are you my new sister?” she asked. She took the back of her hand and wiped her nose on it then grabbed my hand with it. “You are pretty,” she said. “Would you like to play with me?” I stared at her, for all I could think about was her slimy hand in my own.

  “Jill, remember what we talked about? Jane can’t talk.”

  “So, should I not talk to my new sister?” Jill asked with a pout. She looked a lot like Angela, but much smaller, and not as clean. Jill’s clothes were badly wrinkled and somewhat soiled like Mrs. Sanibel’s apron. Her color band was violet. I later learned she was seven. She seemed very happy and full of life. When no one answered her, she became more intense.

  “But why can’t she talk? Is she stupid?”

  “JILL! She is special. She is a Child of God.”

  “We are al
l children of God, but why can’t she talk?” Jill asked.

  “Jill, now you are just being rude. Please stop.” Mrs. Sanibel awkwardly smiled at me. She sure liked to smile.

  “What am I doing wrong? I just want to know why she can’t talk. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  “Please stop, you keep making it worse,” Mrs. Sanibel said. She reached across the couch and patted my arm.

  Mr. Sanibel stood up and grabbed Jill’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said as he pulled her out of the room.

  “What did I do wrong?” Jill whined as she was dragged away. “What did I do wrong?”

  Mrs. Sanibel looked flustered as she turned to me. “I’m sorry about that. Kids can be kids.” She then looked around the room. “Did you come with any suitcase, or any clothes?” I stared at her. My look seemed to cause a shutter come across her.

  “Oh well, no big deal. We have plenty of clothes to share with you.” She wrapped her arms around me, giving me a rib-breaking hug. It reminded me of the hugs I got from Martha at the crisis nursery, except Peggy’s hurt because of her vice-grip lock on me.

  “Let me start off by introducing myself. I am Peggy Sanibel. You can call me Mrs. Sanibel, Peggy, or even Mom if you would like. I really am a nice person, and I love kids. I will call all the kids in a minute to meet you. You are going to love it here. We are a BIG HAPPY FAMILY and we can’t wait to open our arms to another member. I have eleven kids and you will make number twelve. You will meet the rest of the kids in a minute.

  “I don’t know what kind of life you had before you moved here. I hope they didn’t beat you or hurt you. I don’t want you to be afraid of us because you had a really hard past. We will be nothing like those people who locked you in your basement. We are a family, and so we will love you like you had been born here. You are now a member of our family. We are what you call foster parents. Hopefully, if you like it here, then one day we can adopt you and make it official. That will be up to you.

  “We are really good people. We are Christians. I don’t know if you believe in God, but we do and so you will worship with us each Sunday. Our church has a lot of activities for kids your age. You will love them.

  “Mr. Sanibel works at a dairy in Logan. It’s not too far from here. He keeps busy. His name is Mike. You can call him Mike, Mr. Sanibel, or Dad. I babysit during the week to bring in a little extra money. When there is a school break, other parents need a place for their kids to be watched, so I usually have almost twenty kids here, but then you add in the kid’s friends, and it’s closer to forty. Everyone asks me how I do it. I don’t know, it comes natural. I wonder how come they don’t do it. Kids are wonderful. I love kids.” She talked faster than anyone I had heard.

  “Let’s see, what else is there to tell you? Oh, you will love it here. Mantua is a really small town. We know everyone here. You will make lots of friends. If you like to fish, then you will love the reservoir. I am sure you saw it when you pulled up. It is right across the street.

  “Do you like the house? We love it. Someone turned this old church into a home. There are five bedrooms here. You are lucky because you don’t have to share your room with anyone. We have three kids per room, and two in with the husband and me.

  “I try to keep the cupboards stocked with snacks, but it is hard. The kids are like termites let loose on a fine piece of wood. They devour anything in sight within seconds. I don’t think anyone here takes time to swallow. We have to eat fast if we want anything. It’s kind of like the seagulls at the Great Salt Lake. Have you ever watched them? They swoop in where there is food and they fight and gulp it down. We are like that. So if you want to eat, then you have to dive in and grab, because if you don’t, it disappears within seconds.” She could prattle on seemingly endlessly.

  “Hmm, what else is there to tell you? Bedtime is very strict around here. All kids are to be in bed by eight pm, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Everyone does their own laundry here. If you don’t know how to, then we will teach you. Oh, that reminds me, we have to first get you some clothes. All my kids are one year apart, so you will be able to fit into a lot of clothes. Did you know I planned it to have all the kids one year apart? I wanted one big close family. I managed to do it, too. All the kids celebrate their birthdays in October. So October is like Christmas in this family. Everyone gets presents and we have one giant birthday party. It is great. Do you know when your birthday is? It would be funny if it was in October as well.

  “When you first get home from school, you are expected to get your homework done. We are a close family and the kids are really good at helping each other out, so if you need homework help, go to one of the older kids. They can help you. Also, when you first get home, there is a job chart. Everyone is expected to do a job. They aren’t hard.”

  It didn’t take me long to figure out Peggy liked to hear herself talk. She also liked to brag to others about her “Great Big Happy Family!” She went on as if she was the greatest mom, boasting about the structure and organization in their home, but there wasn’t. It was all words. They did have a job chart hanging on the wall, but the jobs on it didn’t change and never were enforced. The kids hardly lifted a finger, and neither did the parents. I don’t think I ever saw the dishes formally washed. The cupboards were always bare because the dishes were in the sink. If you needed a dish, you had to wash it before you used it. When Peggy did buy groceries, the bags would be dropped off on the kitchen floor. She would put away all the fridge items, but she never put anything else away. Everyone would dig through the bags when they needed something.

  I am not trying to talk bad about the Sanibels. They were good people with loving hearts, but lazy when it came to things like cleanliness and hygiene. I am sure the town could tell what kind of people they were, but the Sanibels still talked and carried on as if everyone believed their lies.

  One thing Peggy was good at, was cooking. I could always count on a huge home cooked meal. That was the only structure in the home. Everyone was expected to meet at the dinner table at 6:30. There was no excuse good enough for missing dinner time.

  When Peggy had finished telling me about the rules, she decided it was time for me to meet my foster siblings. She went to a large dinner bell in the family room and clang it. The sound was loud, and I covered my ears to block it out.

  “That will get them coming,” she said with a smile. I noticed her teeth were very crooked and yellow. “We have trained them the bell mustn’t be ignored.”

  The living room filled with kids, the air became warm and muggy real quick. I wanted to run out of there because it felt so confining, making my body temperature rise. There were twenty-five kids in all. I had discovered I could count while at the crisis nursery.

  “All right, if you are a Sanibel, line up to the right. If you aren’t, line up to the left.”

  The kids scampered back and forth until there was a line with eleven on one side, and fourteen on the other.

  “Hey Thomas and Trent, get out of the Sanibel line and join the others,” she said sternly to two boys.

  “But I want to be a Sanibel,” one of the boys said.

  Peggy pointed to the other line. They ducked out of the Sanibel line and joined the non-Sanibel line.

  “Ok, let’s start from left to right. That there is Nina; six,, Alashia; twelve, Jill; seven, Christian; eleven, Angela; thirteen, Emma; ten, Joshua; eight, Elizabeth; nine, and Traydon; fourteen. Who is missing?” Peggy asked.

  “Rhett is at work and who knows where Cordon is?” one of the kids replied.

  “Well, there you go. This is your new family. Everyone say high to Jane.”

  “Hi!” all the kids bellowed out.

  “Those kids over there are either kids I babysit, or friends. Our home always has kids running in and out, and that’s the way I like it,” Peggy said pointing to the other line.

 
“Are you adopting her?” a neighbor kid asked.

  “Not yet, she is our foster kid for now.”

  “Can I be your foster kid?” another neighbor asked.

  “Me too,” asked another.

  “Oh I wish I could adopt all of you, but I don’t have enough rooms, and besides, your parents would miss you.”

  “Is she that girl from the news? Nina told me she was the girl they found in the cement room in Bountiful.” one of the neighbor kids said.

  “Now let’s not be rude kids,” Peggy said in a warning voice.

  My head felt like it was spinning. There were too many people crammed in the room. Lightheaded, I felt like collapsing on the floor. I wanted to go to my new room and hide forever.

  “Let’s go see the house!” Peggy said in a bubbly voice. She swung her arms back and forth, as if we were going on an amazing adventure to see a castle. I tagged behind her as she showed me all of the rooms in the house. Although it looked pretty big from the outside, it seemed much smaller inside. When we had seen all the rooms, we went to the yard.

  The outside was breathtaking, with lots of grass in the back. Surprisingly, compared to the inside, the yard was well manicured. It was a bit brown and yellow from the winter, with small patches of snow clumped along the edges. Adorning the yard was ornamental fences and little brick pathways set in the ground. I could imagine myself spending all day in the yard reading, something I discovered I could do at the crisis nursery.

  When the tour ended, Peggy brought me back into the house. She looked down at the beaded watch on her thick wrist.

  “Mercy me, look at the time. I gotta make dinner. Kids, take care of Jane and be nice to her.” She left me with the kids while she went into her small, tight kitchen.

  I felt vulnerable, being alone with all of those kids. Earlier, Peggy had compared her family to a bunch of ravenous sea gulls. At that moment, I felt they were all eyeing me, ready to take a bite.

  “How old are you?” I was asked.

  “Do you want to go outside?”

  “Do you want to go to the reservoir?”

  “Do you want to watch TV?”

  “Do you want to ride bikes?”

  “What do you like to do for fun?”

  “What grade are you in?”

  “Did they beat you in that cement room?”

  “I heard you’re Russian. Do you speak English?”

  The kids bombarded me with questions. I didn’t answer any of them. I was tired. I wanted to be left alone.

  After a while, the questions stopped when everyone realized I wasn’t going to answer them. At times someone would grab my hand and lead me to a room or outside. But, eventually, they all got bored of me, and I found myself alone. I wanted to hide before any of them returned, so I went to my room and closed the door.

  The room was very un-stimulating, and I sat there staring at nothing. I thought about my sparse memories, wanting to cry, for I felt alone. Eventually, I went to the window and looked out onto the reservoir. Although it was small, there were a couple of canoes on it. I looked at the pane of glass, noticing how dirty the window was. The room felt old and timeworn. When I tired from looking out, I decided to lie on the bed and take a nap. I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t because of all the noise in the house and the little heads who kept opening my door to sneak peeks at me.

  Finally, I heard the dinner bell ring. I was hungry and tempted to respond, but I didn’t because it would mean being thrust into the throngs of kids again. My anxiety was stronger than my hunger. The pounding of feet could be heard responding to the call. After a few minutes, I heard Mike’s loud voice bellowing my name.

  “Jane. Jane Doe!”

  My bedroom shook as I heard Peggy ascend the stairs. She found me on my bed.

  “Oh Jane, I am so sorry you are in here by yourself. That was so rude of my kids to leave you. Sanibels are better than that. Don’t you worry. I gave them a lecture, and they will never do that to you again.”

  What Peggy didn’t understand was I liked being alone. I should have spoken. I should have told her I was fine by myself and please not to force her kids to play with me. But I wasn’t ready to speak yet.