Fierce Little Thing

by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore

  “You know, I went to see your father,” Abraham said. “After Philip took you away, after your first summer here. It required some doing, getting in to see him. But I talked to the right people, who convinced him to agree. Did you ever visit him?” He didn’t wait for my response. “I’d never been in a prison, if you can believe it. It was much more … mundane … than I expected. Clean, orderly. In any case, he wanted to know who I was, and why I cared, and I said I wanted to help you. I said you had come to me, and I wanted to help you, so I needed to know more about who you are.”

  He watched my hands and torso rattling in the air. I was letting myself remember: the softness at the nape of your neck. Your tiny toes. Finally, someone would say it.

  Abraham stood about a foot away, and lifted his hands to my cheeks, and smiled his beautiful smile as his eyes searched mine. He leaned forward and I thought, oh, here we are again, it really is going to be this stupidly simple after all. I wondered, as he approached, how I was going to react, because even though I knew all the reasons not to kiss him, I also knew that I would follow any place he led. But, just as the last time we’d stood this close, he went past my lips. His Adam’s apple was a lozenge I could have licked. His voice, low and steady, dropped a plumb line deep inside of me:

  “He said I wouldn’t believe him if he told me the truth.” He lifted his mouth away, but he was still so close. “What do you think he meant by that?”

  I could tell him. I could say it all. But Grandmother’s voice was somewhere deep inside, keeping my memory locked away. Marta’s voice was there, too—did I want to be like Abraham or not? Was it possible to want both?

  He frowned, surprised, when I didn’t answer right away. For a moment, I thought I’d just say it, but he went on. “You know we can’t go back out there, to the Thinged World. People like us, who’ve been broken by it? We can’t go back where they doubt us. That’s why we made our own world here. You want to stay, don’t you? You want your friends to be safe here, with me, where I can take care of you?”

  Of course that’s what I wanted.

  “I know how hard you worked to become a warrior. But now I see: we don’t have to fight the way Sal and his men want to.” I imagined helicopters hovering over the cabin, rattling its windows with their mighty rotors, dropping down onto the roof with machine guns, coming down the ridgeline in camouflage. He was right, of course: we had no defenses. We had no chance. “We can’t outsmart them.”

  “You don’t think so? You’re very clever, Saskia.” He shrugged, then acquiesced. “We might not be able to best them with words, perhaps. What about with sacrifice?”

  “Like a fatted calf?” Or did he mean me? “Or a virgin?”

  “Marta,” he said, “has a sizable inheritance. Did you know that? She’s a millionaire, in fact. Many times over. You wouldn’t think of it, given how she dresses, or that cabin she calls home. My father left me enough to buy the property, but not enough for taxes. Marta got the lion’s share.”

  “You should ask her for money,” I said. “For the bank.” Something was ripping around inside me, clawing to get out. Up on the ridgeline, she had said she was going to stop him. What did that mean, stop him?

  “You may have noticed,” he said, “that she isn’t doing particularly well.”

  The blood on the ground. “The cough.”

  “Stomach cancer. It’s spread to her lungs.”

  All I could think of was Home. Save Home. “So you’ll inherit everything, then—that’s great. And you can use the money to keep us here.”

  He shook his head. “She won’t be gone before they repossess. And stomach cancer is … well, it’s not a pretty death. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it’s spread to her brain as well. That can happen, you know. I tried to convince her to go to the hospital, to get a nurse to come in, but she insists she wants no help. Only, it breaks my heart so, to think of her suffering. I don’t want her to suffer, you know. She’s my mother, no matter our differences. What if…” he began. The cardinal flew off. “What if you helped her?”

  “Helped her?” We were on a path now, leading into a dark wood.

  “Helped her leave this world. It would be a kindness. Quick, easy, surrounded with love. The way she’s planning to go, it’s agonizing. She’ll be so alone. But you could make it easy for her. Think of how the money would flow to us then, to keep Home alive.” He pushed aside my hair.

  “I think,” I said, “that she might want to hurt you. She told me that she might hurt you.”

  His hand stilled. “Well. Now.” A quick, wry smile. “All the more reason. She’s much cleverer than I am, that’s for sure. If she wants to hurt me, then there’s a safe bet she’ll succeed.”

  There were tears in my eyes but I hated them. I hated crying, since you’d gone.

  “It’s funny,” he said, watching me. “I got it wrong. All this time, I thought…” He shook his head, as if to rid himself of whatever doubt he was holding. “You’re ready for this. You’re a warrior.”

  Everything was mixed up.

  “Oh my dear, you won’t be alone. That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Loneliness?”

  I was shaking in his hands.

  “The others will help. You need them, as much as they need you to lead them into battle. Those of us built to destroy need to be lifted out of our destruction. Ben works hard, so he’ll see the job is done. Xavier is loyal, so he’ll make sure to keep everyone close. Issy will be the one to lift you out of the darkness, after all of this is over. And Cornelia—”

  “Will sing?”

  Abraham guffawed, quick and mean. I did, too. It was funny, what I’d said. I liked how mean I could feel.

  “Well, sure,” he said. “But really, honestly, Cornelia will doubt you. That’s good, too, Saskia. Doubt firms our resolve. It makes us stronger.”

  “But how would I convince them? They love Marta so—”

  “Why, you use their talents. You know what makes them special. So now you figure out how to use it.”

  My mind left my body then. I was standing there, with Abraham, but I was also above us, calculating, understanding, imagining. What awaited was unfolding in front of me, as if it was a story that had already been made. “And you’ll help, too?”

  A sharp intake of breath. “The thing of it is, Marta won’t let me near her. I want her ending to be peaceful, but it won’t be the least bit peaceful if I’m there. But you, and your friends, oh, Saskia, she’ll invite you in the moment you knock.”

  137

  Xavier is waiting on the shore. “Where’ve you been? You can’t fucking disappear like that.”

  Ben splashes into the water and brings us in. “We took a canoe out.”

  “Well, you didn’t tell anyone.” Xavier’s looking between us now, sniffing out evidence.

  Once Ben has the canoe on shore, I step out. Take the step toward Xavier, let him smell me, let him know I haven’t touched that other man, not beyond my mind, at least. “You’re going to make a wonderful father,” I say. “In spite of Philip, and because of him.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  Ben’s breath is loose. He’s happy.

  “What the fuck are we going to do?” Xavier says. “Don’t say shoot him, we can’t shoot him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’ll be sent to fucking jail. There’s some way out of this. Saskia, can’t you talk to him? Can’t you get rid of him? Why does it have to be murder?”

  “What do the ladies say?”

  “The ladies went to sleep.” Xavier’s fingers work through his hair. “Why is no one panicking?”

  “Because Ben’s going to shoot him.” I’m grinning. Ben cracks up.

  Xavier sighs in exasperation.

  “What time is it?”

  “Past midnight, I’d guess.” We walk then, the three of us, back to the cabin. “We need a plan.”

  “We need to rest.” Five hours then, give or take. Let them s
leep. Let them dream.

  138

  It was morning. The red squirrels raced up and down the trunks of the trees. A spiderweb sparkled in the window, catching the streaming-in sun. Buffets of golden light, reflected off the lake, roiled and rolled along the ceiling. Marta’s eyelids sunk closed in deep sleep. I thought us lucky; she was closer to death than she’d been the day before.

  But then, no, she lifted her head from the pillow and rubbed at her eyes and gave us a surprised good morning. Xavier shot me a look. As I came inside, she rose from the bed, so pleased, ever so pleased, to see us. Ben and Xavier and Issy drew inside, behind me. We’d left Cornelia as lookout; she wouldn’t stop crying. The hatchet, too, I’d left outside, under Marta’s porch, where it would be safe but ready.

  “I’m sorry about the other day,” I said. “I shouldn’t have run off.”

  Issy took a seat on the couch. “How’s your mother?” Marta asked her.

  “Gabby left.”

  “You must miss her.”

  Issy forced a smile. “Foraged anything good lately?”

  “Haven’t been out much.” Marta’s eyes trailed toward the window. She was sick. Outside was too much—and if Marta couldn’t go outside, then how could she be happy? We were helping her, that was something to remember.

  Ben and I were in the kitchen by then. Xavier, too, but he was supposed to be sitting with Issy and Marta, keeping the conversation steady and safe. Instead, he was hovering. It was too small a space to whisper properly. I lifted my eyebrows and gestured toward Marta. His face was agony, though, just hanging in front of me, his body blocking the counter where I was supposed to be. I pushed past him, opened the bag, took out the folded pieces of cloth, the precious eggs, the new fiddleheads.

  “All right if we make breakfast?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, what generous hearts.”

  “This was all Saskia’s idea,” Issy said flatly.

  Marta beamed. “I’m not surprised.” She made a show of trying to get up. “Can I help?”

  I must have shot Ben a terrible look because he gave me a sure smile as he lifted the skillet onto the stove. “I got it. You all catch up.”

  “I hope your mother’s well,” Marta said to Ben.

  “Oh yes.” How had I never seen how graceful Ben was at lying? “Yeah, she’s doing great.”

  “I heard she threw out the Mother.”

  “Just wanted a change, I guess.”

  I nudged Xavier with my foot. Xavier was supposed to charm. Instead, he was frozen like a block of ice in the center of the room. Issy leaned toward Marta. “It’s, uh, it’s a beautiful day, right?”

  “I can’t do this.” Xavier mumbled. He looked like he might cry. If Xavier cried, we were done.

  “Ben.”

  Ben turned at the sound of my voice. He glanced at Marta, who was only half paying attention. He stepped close to Xavier, turning his back so Marta couldn’t see his face, and said in a low voice, “You have anywhere else to go?”

  Xavier looked at his shoes.

  “You have parents who want you?”

  Xavier shook his head.

  “This is your home now. You do whatever it takes.”

  Xavier looked at Ben then, eyes darting back and forth. Ben didn’t let him falter. He kept his eyes on Xavier’s until Xavier took in a quick breath, and turned to Marta, and plastered on a smile, and strode across the small room. “Read any good books lately?”

  Ben melted the butter. I cracked the eggs and whisked them. We found cheddar in the fridge—green with mold, but we cut that off, and grated it. There was just enough to make six omelets. We made our five first, and kept them warm in the oven. Marta’s, I made last.

  We sat around her tidy living room, even Cornelia, who was calmer when she came inside to eat. Marta didn’t have an appetite, but she was polite. I made myself eat as much as she did. Anyway, a couple bites would do it.

  “Inky caps?” she asked.

  The cheese drew a string between the plate and my mouth. I plunged it in. “Inky caps. Found them up on the ridge.”

  Then all there was to do was wait.

  139

  Nausea pangs, but I stand still and stay upright, Marta’s cabin in my sights. Maybe he can see me out in the beginning of the day. I can’t go to him, not yet, not without a breath.

  Five things I can see: a Populus tremuloides upslope, leaves rattling silver; the web of an Argiope aurantia between branches, dew crystals catching the early light; a sliver of lake, smooth before the wind kicks up; a Tamias striatus, cheeks bulging, lifting one paw to regard me; the moon, still risen, in the blue sky.

  Four things I can hear: a downy woodpecker—Dryobates pubescens—hammering into a dead tree in search of grubs; a mourning dove—Zenaida macroura—lowing; the rustle of leaves beneath my feet; the hiss of a motorboat somewhere out of sight.

  Three things I can touch: an electric green Calosoma scrutator crawling over my thumb; the rough bark of the Tsuga canadensis under my hand; a pine needle, landing on my shoulder.

  Two things I can smell: my fear, coming off me in waves; but bigger than that, the unnamable scent of Home.

  One thing I can taste: what I ate last, bland enough, but already doing its work.

  The sun brightens the whole porch as I knock. Another tweak of nausea, but I swallow it down. It takes Abraham a while.

  “Let’s walk up to the ridge,” I say, when he finally appears. “Watch the day begin.”

  We both know what it will be, for him, in his state, to make it up there. We both know he will say yes despite it. The climb is long and difficult, but I accounted for this, for the gasps of air and his hand on my shoulder, for the times I had to turn aside and not let him see me writhe. For his frail steps and shallow breath, the gasp of air into his weak lungs. But by the time the sun touches all of Home, we are finally at the top.

  I suppose I should not be surprised that it came together—the treasure discovered on yesterday’s walk. A sign from you. A way to begin to know what must be done.

  He stands in the sun, arms outstretched, looking out over the land he named. I stand back, and watch him begin to sing:

  Oh I once had a horse and his name was Bill

  When he ran he couldn’t stand still

  He ran away

  One day

  And also I ran with him

  I take Topsy out of my waistband, bury my nose in his head. Set him down beside me. I pick up the hatchet, still mossy on the handle from its years spent under Marta’s porch.

  He ran so fast that he could not stop

  He ran into a barber’s shop

  And fell exhaustionized

  With his eye teeth

  In the barber’s left shoulder

  The blade is sharp, I made sure of that last night. A wincing lurch in the pit of my stomach. My arm shakes. I might not be strong enough.

  He hears my hesitation.

  He turns. His eyes are sharp and knowing.

  I throw the hatchet.

  We both watch it sail over the edge of the cliff, three feet off its mark.

  “That’s it?” Abraham’s ending, disappeared into the air. The chance to free the others, lost. He starts to laugh. At me. “That’s your brilliant idea? Throw an axe at my head?” His own words make him laugh harder. The sound carries down to the lake and back. They’ll hear him. They’ll find us. “Did you really think you could kill me with that thing? Oh, poor girl. Look at you. Of course you missed.”

  No. I can’t let him extract his death from the others. It’s a terrible tithe they won’t survive. They barely survived the first time. This was my chance to rescue them. Quivering inside my fury and disappointment, the secret truth: I was ready to see you.

  Abraham laughs at me, he laughs and laughs as he used to, his mouth so mean. It makes me think of Daddy.

  I back up, into the forest at the top of the ridge. Into the trees. Into the animals. The flowers. The brambles. The trunks. He’s at my tail. H
e calls my name, as though we are playing a marvelous game from childhood. “I told you how it had to be,” he says. “I said all five of you. What part of that was unclear? Did they put you up to this? Oh, poor Saskia. Always alone.”

  I dodge the evergreens, the maples, the birches, I forget their names in the face of the cramping as it overtakes me once again and I know I won’t be able to walk much longer, or keep away from him, or hide myself. All hope of releasing Ben from this—and Issy, Cornelia, Xavier, little Sekou, all the ones they love—of using my gift to help them, is lost.

  “Don’t cry,” he says. “Don’t cry.” As if he gets to tell me. As if he gets to know.

  Then I remember. That gash in the ground, in the forest. Two hundred feet deep, Marta once warned Butterfly. A place to fall and never be found. It’s not so far from where I am, somewhere just within my reach, but I have no idea which direction. It could swallow me. I could disappear inside it forever. Maybe you’d meet me down at the bottom. He’s right; I am weak, so much weaker than I thought. I grasp my stomach as it spasms again. Soon there won’t be waves of pain; soon I will be pain itself, and he’ll stand over me and watch me go.

  “Come back,” he says. “Saskia, come back. I believe in you. You want to kill me? Give it another shot.” He’s teasing. He knows I failed. He thinks it’s funny. Out of the corner of my eye I see him grasp a cedar trunk to gain his balance. There, wait—he’s weaker than he’s showing. I scan the forest floor. Rotting leaves, old branches, pine needles, downed limbs. No trail to follow, no hint from Marta about where to go. Just think.

  We left the clearing later than we did the day she first told me about the chasm. If I double back, and he follows … he’s almost caught up, but I stay ahead, I remember he is weak, too, I remember he is dying, too—even if he wants to make us carry out his death, even if he wants us to bear it for him, even if he wants to control us until the end. I walk with my eyes on the ground. I find I’m better able to ignore what’s happening inside me now that I have something to focus on. Step. Step. Step.