"That's far from nothing. You get your clothes on, and you go right to Mrs Millstein this minute," she ordered.
"But . ."
"Do what I say," she screamed. She looked horrified as I began to put my school clothes back on. Then she left to go to her office. By the time I arrived at the nurse's office, Mrs. Wilson had called and Mrs. Mill- stein was waiting, prepared for what she would find.
"Come in, Raven. Please," she said when I opened the door. She had me go into one of the private rooms. "Mrs. Wilson told me about your injuries. Do you want to show them to me?"
"I'm all right," I said.
"I'm sure, but just in case there is something else to do, it might be a good idea to let me see them. Okay?"
I hesitated. And then suddenly, the whole world seemed to come apart for me. I couldn't control myself. The tears that had welled up in my eyes time after time, tears I had driven back or shut off, flooded, poured out of me with no restraint. I began seemingly unstoppable sobbing. Mrs Millstein had to help me to the chair.
"There, there now, Raven. I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," she said.
"It is," I cried. I lifted my skirt slowly, and she looked at the bruises. Then I stood up, and she examined the others.
"How did this happen, Raven?" she demanded in a firm voice. Again, I hesitated. "You must tell me, Raven. Who did this to you?"
I took a deep breath. Did it matter anymore who knew and what sort of a horrible life I had? I sat again and stared at the floor. The tears dripped off my chin.
"Raven?"
"My uncle," I said in a tired, defeated voice. "How did he do this?"
"He beat me with a hairbrush," I said, "and he pinched me after. . after. . ." My tears rushed out again. My chest felt as if it would cave in and crush my heart. Mrs. Millstein fed me tissues and then took my hand.
"Tell me slowly, Raven. Take your time, but tell me everything. I'm here to help you, sweetheart. Go on," she said, kneeling in front of me and holding my hand. "What else did he do to you, honey?"
"After he began to beat me, he touched me where he shouldn't," I blurted. "Then he hit me with the brush until I nearly fainted."
"Did this happen before?" she asked.
"Yes," I moaned. "Last time, it was with a belt." I started to cry softly.
She stared quietly for a long moment, and then she stood up. "Just rest now, Raven. You're going to be fine," she said. "I'll be right back."
Everything that happened afterward happened so quickly it all blurs together like a movie running too fast in my head. Soon afterward, a woman from the children's protection service, Marjorie Rosner, arrived, and Mrs. Millstein urged me to describe what had happened to me. She questioned me in more detail, and then she and Mrs. Millstein went off to confer. Minutes later, I was escorted out and taken to a doctor who examined my injuries and gave Marjorie Rosner a written report. All the while, things were buzzing around me, telephones ringing, policemen arriving, and then I was taken to a temporary foster home run by an elderly couple. They provided me with a hot meal and a place to sleep. I didn't think I would, but the moment my head hit the pillow, I drifted off, feeling my body sink into the mattress.
In the morning, Marjorie arrived and explained that I was going to a courthouse to be questioned by a family court judge. She warned me that my aunt and my uncle might be in the courthouse as well.
"Your uncle was questioned by the police, as well as your aunt," she told me.
"What about what he said he did to my mo
ther?"
"Let's just concentrate on you for now," Marjorie told me.
I was so frightened I could barely walk to Marjorie's car. She kept reassuring me that everything would be all right.
"He'll never lay a hand on you again, Raven. I promise," she said.
When we entered the courthouse, I saw Aunt Clara sitting alone on a bench in the corridor. She had her head down, her hands in her lap. She looked so small and lost. I felt sorry for her. When she heard us in the hallway, she looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale.
"What have you done, Raven?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"It's not what she's done, Mrs. Stack. It's what your husband has done," Marjorie Rosner said.