What is there to say about Penelope? Well, as you can imagine, I have encountered many souls along this journey of my existence, and Penelope was just one of several I never managed to resonate with. She was the nearest of the three Turner daughters in age to me, about a year older. I suppose as a child she was pleasant enough, but with the passing of the years, she grew to be what one might refer to as overtly sensuous. And once Alphonse had developed, she set her sights on him and made it her personal undertaking to train him in the art of passion. Oh yes, I fully blamed her for transforming my innocent little friend into a being of desire and lust. I was, of course, wrong in a basic sense. But in my naïvity, it could not be denied I held great resentment toward her for awakening this need within him, which I figured was the reason for his expulsion from the farm. This tall, dark-haired beauty removed my one true love from my side, and this created a tense barrier between us that would only grow with each passing day. 

Our breaking point finally occurred when she decided to approach me one afternoon in the kitchen while I worked on peeling the potatoes for the Turner matriarch, Rebecca. She was conveniently out fetching herbs from the garden during this moment, meaning this left only the two of us in the room, perhaps the only ones in the house at the time. Penelope took this opportunity to take the seat across from me at the table.

“You seem to have mystified my parents,” she finally spoke, keeping her eyes on my hands while I continued to peel.

“Is that so? I cannot imagine why. It is almost as if I assist them both and see to it that I earn my keep,” I muttered with a bit of a bite. 

“I thought you told Father that you are eighteen? You are a liar. I do not know what you are, but you have appeared the same my entire life,” she grumbled back.

“Penelope, I came to be here when I was thirteen. I have only lived with you for five years. That hardly encompasses your entire life. Perhaps simple mathematics is too challenging for you to comprehend,” I muttered again and earned a harsh expression. 

“My knowledge of numbers is proficient, thank you. And you very well know what I mean! How old are you, really? You know lying is a sin… or perhaps you missed that lesson during your stay at the monastery.”

I set the peeled potato aside and focused on her face. 

“I am eighteen years, four months, and twenty-six days of age. I realize my appearance contradicts this, but I assure you of this fact. I am not a child and I do not appreciate you accusing me of being a liar. Especially when I know things about you I am only too certain would bring shame if ever revealed,” I whispered hotly after that nasty quip regarding the monastery. She listened to my words and then leaned forward.

“Is that a threat?” she spoke with a smile. Surely she knew I had witnessed what she and Alphonse had done together in the barn. She was foolish, but not ignorant. And neither was I. After a tense moment between us, I knew I had to relent. What was to be won, anyhow? Alphonse had been sent away to Italy. Any and all hope that we would reunite had dwindled long ago.

“Of course not. It matters none to me any longer. He is gone and neither of us will ever see him again,” I sighed and grabbed another potato.

“You know… I carried his child.”

I felt the potato roll out of my grasp. The impact of its drop against the hardwood of the floor beneath us shook me as the weight of those simple words penetrated my chest like a sharpened knife. 

“Why do you think Father banished him? Because of you? Why would he care so much for one not even of our blood? No, Father discovered the truth and the shock of it all caused me to miscarry it. Quite a shame, truly. Tell me, Peter… do you believe his son would have had golden hair, too?” she uttered casually with that wicked, alluring smile of hers.

“Did he know?”

She shrugged.

“It was still early. I decided I would just try again with him after I recovered. But oddly enough, he lost all interest with me. I wonder why…” Her eyes remained locked on mine, and I returned the effort. 

“Perhaps he could sense that you only used him for your own gratification,” I declared after a moment. This must have been incredibly amusing to her because with my words, she screeched with the type of laughter that I can only describe as eliciting the desire to suffocate her with a potato jammed into her windpipe. 

“You are such an innocent little child! He enjoyed it just as much as me, if not more! After all, a baby was created from our bond -”

“There was no bond. You were merely a body to him. Do not behave as if you ever had a chance of earning his love,” I interrupted her and she scowled.

“Love forms children, little Peter!” 

“Lust forms children, you pathetic slut!” I finally snapped as I slapped the table’s top. We exchanged glares.

“Is it not all the same, in the end? Love, lust - who really decides the difference? Can one exist without a portion of the other?” she finally asked in what seemed to be a calm voice.

“Lust is a curse I was blessed to never receive. Unfortunately, it just may be your downfall,” I answered her tensely, and I saw the anger flash across her face. 

“You believe yourself to be much nobler than me! Is that not true?” she shouted. 

“I certainly do.” 

It was her turn to slap the table as she stood. 

“Well, what of you? If you cannot feel such filth as lust, what can you feel? You seem to be one void of feeling of any sort! Just look at you!” she spat. A jab at my appearance. How pitiful and desperate.

“That is not true. I feel plenty when it comes to affection. Unlike you, I am capable of loving another without the intent of just using them.”

“Is that so? Well then! What is your preference, little Peter? Do you prefer breasts, or are you more focused on my little sisters to match your stature?” she sneered and leaned across the table. I matched her response and leaned forward until only a short distance separated us. I wanted her to hear every word with perfect clarity.

“I prefer blond and lithe,” I whispered nastily. I watched the color bloom across her face and down her neck as she realized what I had said. 

“I knew it!” she breathed through grit teeth.

I didn’t have to say another word. She only glared another moment before she stormed out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the potatoes and a leadened heart. 

I cannot be certain if she spoke any truth when it came to a pregnancy. Knowing what I did of her personality, she tended to fluctuate along the line of dramatics. It very well could have been factual, but any proof of this has long been lost to time. Penelope and I never held a conversation again, and for this I am rather grateful.

~