The Moon Wolf

Chapter 17 (1st Draft)

*Media pic shows what the small basement suite cafeteria might look like.

The following morning the children were sober and subdued. It seemed a good night's rest had not softened their woes. They crowded around Penn every chance they got and touched her, hugged her and talked quietly with her as if she might be whisked away at any moment.

She said very little, as per usual, but she did not turn them away or tell them they were being silly and make light of their feelings. Instead, she smiled at them softly, returned their hugs, squeezed their hands and listened as they talked.

Breakfast was a very quiet affair. The children didn't seem to have much stomach for it. And, even Penn was not overly excited about a cooked meal. It felt so strange to hold a plate in her hand and to pick from such dishes as scrambled eggs, pancakes, porridge, toast, breakfast sausages, bacon and cooked ham.

These things were almost foreign to her now. She could not remember what they tasted like or if she liked their taste. In the end she had to settle on a small dish of cooked meats. At least meat was familiar – cooked or not. But, of course, the meats were too salty or too sugary for her sensitive pallet. She ended up pushing the dish away and concentrating on some fruit. Surely apples and oranges would be a safe bet.

The head cook came out, after 15 minutes and asked the pups, "Whatever is the matter? Don't you like the food?" She sounded surprised and a little distressed or perhaps annoyed might be a better description. The children kept their sad faces down and just mumbled that they weren't hungry.

"Not hungry? You lot?" she demanded half in jest and half in annoyance. The children only responded by putting down their forks and spoons and sniffling.

"There will be no crying at my tables, do you hear?" the woman said in a harsh and cold tone that did not set well with Penn at all. She had been sitting quietly at the far end of one of the long cafeteria tables and had gone unnoticed so far.

"I don't coddle babies," she continued. "I work hard to make you a decent meal and I expect you to eat it. Now, pick up your forks and dig in!" she commanded them. The youngest children, those 10 and under, began to cry openly now.

"If you are going to cry over nothing," she barked, "I'd be happy to give you something to cry about," she said with triumph. As if this threat should scare them straight into eating up.

Penn remembered that phrase 'I'll give you something to cry about' from her childhood. A series of forgotten and unwelcome images marched through her mind – a procession of humiliating moments where her feelings were belittled and her concerns tossed to the side for the sake of conformity. She'd never liked that stupid threat.

In fact, she'd down right resented who ever dared to speak to her in such an insensitive and demeaning manner. She hated it now and it wasn't even directed at her. Penn stood to her feet, her quiet action catching the attention of the cook, and she locked eyes on the woman.