Home > Coal For Kiera

Coal For Kiera
Author: E.M. Shue


Introduction

 

 

Welcome to Santa Claus, Indiana where Christmas isn’t just a holiday, it’s a way of life. Join these 12 amazing authors with 11 wonderful books as they bring you some instalove, a little mystery, and maybe some thriller, for a romance filled holiday!

The community of Santa Claus was designed in 1849. The story of how it received the name of Santa Claus has roots both in fact and legend. In January 1856 the town applied for a post office to be installed.

On June 25, 1895, as part of a nationwide standardization for place names, the post office name was changed to the one word Santaclaus. The town's unique name went largely unnoticed until the late 1920s, when Postmaster James Martin began promoting the Santa Claus postmark. The name was changed back to Santa Claus on February 17, 1928. It was then that the Post Office Department decided there would never be another Santa Claus Post Office in the United States, due to the influx of holiday mail. The growing volume of holiday mail became so substantial that it caught the attention of Robert Ripley in 1929, who featured the town's post office in his nationally syndicated Ripley's Believe It or Not! cartoon strip.

 

Learn more about this unique town here: https://santaclausind.org

 

 

To all those that struggle during the holidays.

This is for you.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Kiera

 

 

The rain feels like it’s seeping into my skin through my coat and clothes. I shiver and look around the dark country road. I have music playing in one ear while the other listens for an approaching car. There are no lights this far from town. In the distance, I can just make out the shape of our old mailbox; it’s rusting and falling apart. My father, Leon, won’t replace it, and I can’t find it in my heart to care.

I stop to check for mail when I reach the end of our driveway. Leon has been marking my mail “Return to sender” lately. The man will do anything to screw with me. I slide my gloved hand across the bottom surface and out slides an envelope. In the faint moonlight, I can make out the words “Not at this address” scrawled above my name. I look at the return address and cringe; I’m so glad I caught this before it got sent back. It’s from an apartment management company in Chicago. I had emailed them my application a couple weeks ago. I can’t wait to see what they said. With my heart lifted, I make my way down the dark gravel drive, careful of the many potholes filled with rainwater. A light flashes in the darkness, and I trip and stumble into a puddle. My sneakers are now both soaked and I have to work early in the morning. Shit! I look up to see light flash across the darkness again. It’s coming from the television in the living room. Leon is waiting up for me.

I step off the driveway into the brush, hoping I can hide. I’ve tried to avoid him in the four days since my eighteenth birthday when he threw me out of the house, as if I had a place to go. Leon has been drunk and belligerent in that time. Every day from the time I was twelve, he’s made sure I know how much he hates me. He didn’t always hate me, though. My father loved me at one time. In fact, he thought I was the most perfect baby…until I turned a week old and my momma died. Then everything changed. Momma’s sister took me in and raised me. I only had to see Leon once a month when my aunt would make us have dinner together. I never got to know my mom, but I’ve been told by many people, including my aunt, that she was as artistic as I am.

My dream is to own my own studio someday. I’ll sell other artists’ paintings, as well as my own. According to my aunt, my mom painted many paintings, but I’ve only seen some of them…once. I had needed something of hers for a school project when I was fourteen. Leon had told me I couldn’t have anything, that I didn’t deserve any of her stuff because of what I had done. He reminds me every chance he can of my transgressions against her and God, as he calls them. I’d waited until he went to work and snuck into his bedroom where I figured he would have stuff of hers. Sure enough, the room had been full of paintings she’d done—all sceneries inspired by the area. My favorite had been one she’d painted of the nearby cornfields going on for miles. All I could think about at the time was how in the painting a person could get away from everything and everyone. And that’s what I’d wanted. I wanted to get away from the town that knew me for an act I had no control over. I still want to get away. Because of me, an artist is gone forever, never to touch the world with her beauty.

Leon had returned and found me still admiring the cornfield painting. He’d dragged me from the room, twisting my arm so hard it hurt for days. I thought he was going to beat me; his body had trembled with anger when he threw me to the floor in my room. My pale skin had been covered in bruises I had to hide for weeks afterward. No one in the town does anything to stop him from hurting me; however, now it’s only verbal abuse. He hasn’t touched me since that day. But when he sees me in public, he rants and lets everyone within earshot know what kind of person I am.

I haven’t been in Leon’s bedroom since. He keeps it locked now. When my aunt died, everything she had that was my mother’s, Leon took. I don’t even have a picture of her.

My feet squish in my soaked sneakers as I make my way closer to the house. Tomorrow is going to suck for work. Thank goodness I wear different shoes for my job at the country club. Light from the TV flashes again and I see him passed out in the recliner in the living room. A bottle of whiskey on the table next to him. He’s been drunk so much lately and his anger has gotten worse. At least he’s passed out, though. I breathe a sigh of relief at not having to face him tonight. I only need a couple more days of work, then I’ll get my final paycheck and be able to leave this place. I’m not giving anyone notice. I’ll just go to the bus station and buy a ticket. I’m so glad my aunt had set me up a bank account before she died that Leon never knew about. I’ve been saving money to go to art school and get away from here. It’s everything I have and all I’ve ever wanted.

I turn and make my way to the back of the property where a small shed Leon had built for my mother to paint sits. I found the key before he threw me out of the house; it’s where I’ve been staying. There is no power, and I sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor with a comforter to keep myself warm in the colder weather. It’s better than being homeless. No one in this town would help me if I asked. Unlocking the door, I make my way through the darkness. My eyes adjust and I quickly change out of my soaked clothes and shoes into a pair of sweatpants, a long T-shirt, and socks to sleep in. The chill in the air causes my skin to tingle, and I sigh at the thought of a warm shower at work tomorrow. I clean cabins at a local lakeside resort; they let me take a shower there in a room I need to clean. I dump my shoes upside down so the water inside can drain out. I won’t have time tomorrow to stop at the local laundry mat to dry them for my walk home tomorrow night. I’ll either have to wear my heels from my second job or the soaked shoes. I fall asleep thinking about my future and getting away from this damn town. Getting away from all the hate. You’d think Santa Claus, Indiana, a place where Christmas is celebrated year round, would be full of goodwill and support, but it’s the complete opposite. I’ve never really felt at home here, because I’ve never really had a home. My aunt had tried, but Leon made sure to remind her at every turn that I didn’t deserve one. I close my eyes and fall asleep quickly from exhaustion, and the nightmares come like they do every night.

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