A Look Back: Rennillia Series - Prequel by M. Sembera Read Free Book Online Page A

back into my pajamas. I just curled up in my comforter and laid there feeling sad.
    Only a few hours passed before I could hear my father yelling again. Covering my head with my pillow, I sighed when my door knob started to turn.
    “Why is this door locked?” I heard him shout.
    Swiftly jumping up and unlocking it, I lied, “I was changing.”
    My father narrowed his eyes at me, he knew I was lying but what could he say, I had jeans and a t-shirt on.
    “No school for the rest of the week,” he stated.
    Ordinarily that would have been a happy thought, but since it meant no Hert or Emerson, I argued, “Why not?”
    “Just do what you’re told,” he snapped.
    Holding my head high, I stated, “No.”
    My father’s eyes were wild with fury as he shoved me back shouting, “You are gonna know your place!”
    Before I could do or say anything else, he kicked my leg out from underneath me. I fell to the floor. Covering my face with my arms, I thought of that first night at the Roberts’ when Emerson hugged me, as my father did everything in his power to make me ‘know my place’.

Chapter 7
    As it turned out, I welcomed missing the next few days of school. Who would have thought my little hairbrush could cause such damage? When used as a tool of instruction, however, it left purplish blue splotches all over my body. Preparing myself for Mr. Herterand’s funeral, I dressed in grey slacks and a long black sweater, before heading out of my room. I slowly made my way to the kitchen. My father did not apologize for overreacting when I told him no, but he did have my mother bring me breakfast, lunch and dinner to my room over the last two days, which was his way of admitting his latest attempt to correct my behavior was a little uncalled for. In a way, I understood. He was upset his friend had died and to be fair, I did sneak over to Hert’s whether he knew it or not.
    Breakfast was on the table when I walked in. My father was seated at the table and my mother stood at the stove as usual.
    Pushing the chair next to him slightly, my father offered, “Sit and eat.”
    Staying still, I replied, “I’m not hungry.”
    With a slight grunt, my father finished his breakfast before leaving the table to finish getting dressed.
    “It means a lot to your father that you’re going,” my mother whispered.
    Nodding at her, I thought, like I had a choice.
    Making my way over to her, I asked, “Why aren’t you going?”
    Without answering my question, she shook her head and stated, “You should get your hair done more often. Then you wouldn’t have to pull it up all the time.”
    Before I could question her again, my father walked back into the room and it was time to go.
    On the way to the funeral, neither one of us said a word. I knew my father was thinking mean things about Hert and Mrs. Herterand by the way he would squint his eyes and then mumble to himself. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and wondered how Hert was doing. The last time I saw him, it was clear, the answer to that question was ‘not so good’. Far more people attended Charles Herterand’s funeral than I would have thought. Although we sat on the front row, we were all the way on the other side from Hert and his mother. The service was short, which was a relief because my father blocked my view of Hert and I really wanted to see him.
    As people stood and made their way to the front to offer condolences, my father took my arm and led me in the opposite direction. Instantly I knew why. My father didn’t pretend. He was the type of man that would refuse such a thing, if he deemed it beneath him. I started to get upset to the point that tears were filling my eyes. Then I saw Mr. Roberts walking towards us from the back row. Both my father and I stopped suddenly.
    Giving me a slight nod, Mr. Roberts greeted, “Rennillia,” before staring at my father and asking, “Are you leaving?”
    Letting go of my arm, my father snapped, “The service is