Chapter 3: The Lesson Continues
The bucket of soapy water hit the linoleum with a slosh that echoed the miserable churning in Susi’s stomach. The sharp, clean scent of lemon-scented detergent did nothing to cut through the heavier smells of the kitchen—lingering garlic from dinner, the faint, sweet ghost of baked goods. It all felt like a taunt.
Every movement was a fresh reminder. As she knelt, the rough fabric of her jeans grated against the tender skin beneath, a constant, low-grade fire that flared into a sharp sting with every shift of her weight. She dipped the thick-bristled brush into the hot water, her hands already turning pink.
Sara worked beside her, her silence a loud, shared misery. They scrubbed in slow, painful arcs, the brush handles rough against their palms.
Auntie Jill leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching them. The vintage clock on the wall ticked off each agonizing second. “You think this is about a swim,” she began, her voice calm but filling the room. “It’s not. It’s about trust. It’s about thinking your own cleverness is more important than the rules of this house.”
Susi focused on a stubborn spot of dried gravy, scrubbing until her shoulder ached. She could feel the weight of the hairbrush in her memory, the specific, unforgiving thud of it. This lecture was almost worse. The pain would fade, but these words, this disappointment, were settling deep.
“I provide a roof, food, a place for you to be. And in return, I ask for a little responsibility. A little respect.” Jill pushed off the counter and walked slowly around the perimeter of their work, her sneakers silent on the wet patches. “When you scheme behind my back, you spit on that. You think I enjoy having to… correct you?”
Susi risked a glance at Sara. Her cousin’s jaw was tight, her eyes fixed on the floor as if she could burn a hole through it with her glare.
“You’re not little kids anymore,” Jill continued, stopping behind them. Susi could feel her presence like a shadow. “You’re adults. Or you’re supposed to be. And adults understand actions have consequences. Sometimes immediate ones. Sometimes ones that follow you.”
The kitchen window was a black rectangle, reflecting the room back at them. Susi watched their own hunched, scrubbing forms in the dark glass. Then a movement outside caught her eye. A shape resolved in the darkness beyond their reflections.
John.
He was leaning against the fence post just beyond the circle of light from the window, one boot hooked on the lower rail. The stable boy. He had a riding crop tucked casually under his arm, tapping it lightly against his thigh. And he was watching them. A slow, knowing smirk played on his lips. He could see everything—their pained movements, their downcast faces, Aunt Jill standing over them like a warden.
Humiliation, hot and fresh, washed over Susi. It was one thing to be punished in the privacy of a bedroom. It was another to be put on display like this, to be the night's entertainment for some smirking farmhand.
Sara must have seen him too. Her scrubbing became more frantic, more furious. She kept her head down, but her neck was flushed a blotchy red.
Jill, oblivious, carried on. “This floor will be spotless. And tomorrow, you’ll both be up at six to help John muck out the stables. Maybe some honest work will clear the mischief out of your heads.”
John’s smirk widened at the sound of his name. He gave the riding crop a little twirl.
Susi’s stomach dropped. Muck out the stables. With him. After he’d just watched them get a lecture on their hands and knees. The consequence wasn’t over; it was just morphing into something new, something that promised a different kind of ache.
Jill finally seemed satisfied. “Finish up. I want to see my face in this linoleum.” She turned and left the kitchen, her footsteps fading down the hall.
The moment she was gone, Sara let out a shaky breath. “Did you see him?” she whispered, her voice thick with fury.
Susi just nodded, her eyes darting back to the window. But John was already gone, melted back into the darkness, leaving only the memory of his smirk and the faint, imagined sound of that crop tapping against denim.
The silence in the kitchen was now filled with a new, dread-filled anticipation. The stables waited. And so did he.
The final rinse water swirled down the drain, grey and grimy, taking the last of their forced labor with it. Every muscle in Susi’s body protested as she straightened up, a sharp twinge in her lower back competing with the throbbing heat that sat lower down. She dumped the bucket into the sink with a hollow clang.
Sara was already wiping her hands on a rag, her movements stiff. "Come on," she muttered, not meeting Susi's eye. They shuffled out of the kitchen, the cheerful gingham curtains and the smell of cookies now feeling like artifacts from a different, untroubled life.
The hallway to their bedroom seemed longer than usual, each step a minor agony. Sara shouldered their door open and closed it with a soft but definitive click, the latch engaging like a sigh of relief. The quiet darkness of the room was a sanctuary.
Susi collapsed face-first onto her bed, the cool cotton of the duvet a blessing against her flushed cheeks. She heard Sara rummaging in her bag. "We have to show Heather," Sara said, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual mischief. "This is historic."
A moment later, the electronic chirp of a FaceTime call fractured the silence. Heather’s face, pixelated and concerned, filled the screen. "You guys are alive! I was so worried. What happened?"
"Just get ready for the main event," Sara said, her tone theatrical. She propped the phone against a lamp on the nightstand. "Aunt Jill’s handiwork, live and in color."
With a wince, Sara turned and pushed her soft cotton pajama bottoms down just enough, revealing the skin below her waist. It was a uniform, angry pink, like a bad sunburn, the faint outline of the hairbrush visible in the slight swelling.
"Heather, look. Sara got off easy," Susi mumbled into her mattress before pushing herself up onto her elbows. She met Heather’s wide-eyed gaze on the screen for a second before turning.
The contrast was stark. Where Sara’s skin was pink, Susi’s was a deep, thorough red, a vivid map of the discipline she’d received. The color bloomed across her skin, hot and unmistakable.
"Oh, wow," Heather breathed, her voice a mixture of horror and fascination. "Susi, yours is... really red."
"You're telling me," Susi grumbled, quickly pulling her pajamas back up as the fabric reignited the fire. "I got the premium package."
Sara pulled her own pants up, a grimace twisting her features. "Yeah, but we both have to muck stables with Creepy John at dawn. He was watching us through the window the whole time."
"He was not!" Heather’s voice squeaked with disbelief.
"He was smirking," Susi confirmed, rolling onto her side to face the phone, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through her. "Had a riding crop and everything. It was weird."
A heavy silence fell, punctuated only by the hum of the old house. The brief levity of showing off their injuries had evaporated, replaced by the dread of the morning. "We should sleep," Sara finally said, reaching for the phone. "Six AM comes fast."
"Good luck, you guys," Heather said, her face softening with sympathy before the screen went black.
Sara placed the phone on her charger and clicked off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness, the only light a sliver of moon through the window. Susi lay perfectly still on her stomach, every heartbeat a pulse of heat against the sheets. She listened to Sara’s breathing slowly even out, but sleep felt a thousand miles away. The memory of John’s smirk in the window was now etched behind her eyelids, a promise of another kind of discomfort waiting for them at dawn.