Chapter 11
In the rural 1980s, who didn't wear the same clothes for years? Patches upon patches were common—hand-me-downs from elder siblings to younger ones, and when garments became utterly unwearable, they'd still be repurposed for shoe soles. But Maya White from the White household? Just days ago, Clara had been boasting through the village about making new clothes for her daughter's upcoming matchmaking.
Today, Maya wore a pristine white floral blouse, brand-new khaki trousers, and those eye-catching black canvas shoes with white trim. What village girl wouldn't envy her? Everyone knew the Whites had Ethan, their soldier son, who never lacked fabric ration coupons. Then there was Luna beside her—her worn-out black shoes revealing two toes!
"Aiyah, why does Ethan's fabric allowance only buy new clothes for his cousin while his own sister dresses like this?" muttered Aunt Elizabeth.
"Exactly! In dead winter, Luna fetches water at dawn, gathers pigweed, tends chickens, and washes the whole family's laundry at night..." added Mrs. Laura.
"And Maya? All she does is crack sunflower seeds and gossip!"
Jack White burned under the neighbors' pointed stares. Luna seized the moment, clutching her tattered hem with trembling hands: "Uncle... I know I'm no match for Maya... but Grandma was going to beat me to death! If I hadn't run out, would you have told everyone I died of illness?"
The words struck like thunder. Jack jumped up, frantic: "Luna! How could you think that of me?"
Before he could finish, Clara lunged, seizing Luna's arm—directly on a fresh bruise. Luna gasped, tears welling.
"Clara! Still resorting to violence?" Aunt Elizabeth yanked her away.
Clara trembled with rage: "This wretched girl lies! I just hit her a little too hard—"
Luna shoved up her sleeve, revealing mottled purple welts: "Too hard? Last night, just because I refused factory work, you beat me half to death with a fire poker!" She turned to the crowd: "Four years—I haven't eaten cornbread, just dishwater leftovers..."
The villagers erupted.
"Starving a child in 1985?"
"The Whites have grain to spare!"
"Treating blood kin worse than a stray?"
Luna wiped her tears, voice breaking: "Mayor Clark, I'm eighteen—let me return to my own home!" Her mind was clear—if she stayed, her uncle would sell her family house by year's end.
Jack went sheet-white. Clara screeched: "You ungrateful—"
"Raised me?" Luna's gaze turned razor-sharp. "Grandma... am I even a real White?"
The question doused Clara like ice water.