by Liahona West
“Yeah. You noticed the kids passing these out?”
Bannack nodded.
Eloise rotated her body to walk around a man passing by them. “We have many older members of the Compound who aren’t mobile. We all take turns bringing them food for the day. This basket is for Alma. She came to the Compound after suffering from a stroke and she struggles to talk. Soora calls it aphasia.”
“Why do you need me?”
“To carry the water, Dum-Dum.” Eloise nudged Bannack with her elbow. She caught him right under his ribs, where he was the most ticklish—she knew this—and Bannack groaned out a laugh. He jerked from her before she could get him again.
Eloise stopped walking, and Bannack nearly bumped into her. He watched a father bathe his two young children in a large, metal animal trough. A boy and a girl. Bannack’s own father used to do the same with him and his sister.
Confused, Bannack drew his eyes to what held Eloise’s attention.
A somber group carrying a covered body on a stretcher passed by, not a dry eye among them. They walked slowly, with the men humming a deep song, the melody lost on Bannack. He watched Eloise grip the arm of a middle-aged woman.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
The woman smiled, tears clinging to the edge of her lips. “He spoke often of your kindness. In you, he found a kindred spirit.”
When the group had gone, Bannack asked, “You knew him?”
“Yes. William Fitch. I brought him food like I’m doing with Alma. We talked about family we lost and…our trauma. He’s—was—quite hilarious. Full of ridiculous, cheesy jokes he owned so well, they never got old.”
“Do you need to go? I can take the food.”
Eloise smiled, eyes glistening. “No. Funerals here are for immediate family only. I’ll pay my respects later.”
After a moment, Bannack smiled. “I remember my grandmother was buried in a cheetah. Said she needed all the help she could get to run from my grandfather’s…sexual advances.” He laughed at Eloise’s shock. “Do not worry. She spoke in jest.”
“I’m sure she did. But a cheetah, really?”
“Not a real one. In a small part of Ghana, not everywhere, some coffins are built to resemble things like animals, vehicles, or items. A lot of people are still buried traditionally, but my family loved the unique coffins. Once, I had a cousin who told me their dad commissioned a Coke bottle to be made for him when he died.”
“Okay. That’s just weird.”
“For you, maybe. Because your people enjoy boring. Boring in life and in death.”
Bannack loved the smile that animated her entire face. It warmed him.
“Hey! We can make intricate coffins, too.”
“Perhaps. But has anyone ever been able to say they were buried in a kpakpo shito chili pepper? No. Did not think so.”
Eloise laughed into the wind. “What a wonderfully strange tradition.”
They walked together in silence for a while, Bannack repeatedly looking to Eloise, still reeling from his rescue of her. So many questions. How did she get the scar on her face? How did her nanites work? Were they so powerful they could prevent her from dying?
“Elle?” Bannack asked, rubbing his hands together. She glanced to him, eyes wide, and their conversation shifted. “What is wrong?”
“That name. I haven’t heard it since we were kids. It’s…nice to hear it again.”
A gentle smile spread across his face. His cheeks warmed. “Then I shall call you Elle more often.”
Her face softened. “You had a question.”
“Yes…” Bannack paused, unsure he should even ask. “What happened to Ada?”
Eloise played with the edge of her sleeve. “The water table is around the corner. We have to boil all of our water and with the amount of people living here, it’s tedious but necessary. There’ll be a pitcher for you to grab with cooled water. Once we get it, we can head over to Alma’s.”
“Good to know. But Elle…” Bannack stepped in front of Eloise, stopping her short. She refused to meet his gaze.
Eloise bit her bottom lip, inhaled, and then glanced up with determined eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Silence passed between them. The sun beat down on his back and sweat covered his skin as the wind passed through his cotton tee. He watched Eloise’s jaw work, and he knew he had touched a nerve.
“Alright. I apologize for asking too soon. Shall we get the water?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Eloise
The silence made brooding easy.
Why am I so mad that he asked about Ada? This is Bannack. It’s not like he’s a stranger.
Eloise glanced at him as he walked intentionally to her right so he could hear her better if she spoke. She pushed five foot two with her boots on and the top of her head was barely up to his shoulder. He stepped into the sun as Eloise continued to take strategic glances his way. Soft yet defined jaw, high cheekbones, hair just a bit longer than a buzz cut, and intense blue eyes capable of searing straight through to her core. He walked like a man, broken but determined.
Oh, my god. Eloise’s heart quickened. I need to stop staring.
Bannack bent and plucked flowers from the ground, bundling them in a bouquet.
“What are you doing?” Eloise cocked her head at him.
After placing three wide blades of grass throughout the bouquet, Bannack peered at Eloise with innocent eyes. “She has no family here. Correct?”
Eloise nodded and stared at the beautiful flowers in Bannack’s hands. “I still don’t—”
“And,” Bannack continued as he crouched to inspect a clump of white daisies, “she most likely is not mobile, so she struggles with keeping a clean home. Right?”
Once again, Eloise nodded. “You really don’t have to—”
“Ergo, she might enjoy some wildflowers.” Bannack added some lavender bell-shaped flowers he plucked from a field of knee-high grass.
She couldn’t help but stare at him. He acted like kindness and forethought was inconsequential.
A decade later and you still think of others.
Eloise gripped the basket against her body as she tapped on a decrepit door, faded grey paint flaking off the surface. Yesterday’s basket, void of food and awaiting pickup, sat on the concrete walkway. The door creaked loudly as an old woman in a green, knitted shawl, a slight wobble to her head, and drooping eyelids, opened the door. Her eyes darted to either side, then up at Eloise’s smiling face.
“Hello, Alma. I’ve brought you more food.”
Alma turned her eyes up to Bannack. She watched him for a moment, looking to Eloise.
“This is my friend, Bannack. He came to help.” Eloise offered her basket.
The old woman had been non-verbal for as long as anyone in the Compound could remember. Her face drooped, and she walked with one leg dragging on the ground. Only one thing could have caused the strange mannerisms. A stroke.
Alma smiled and brought the basket into her small home. It had been a school classroom and much of the scent coming from inside reminded Eloise of old books, and a pile of crocheted and knitted blankets sat in the corner. Alma passed the time making blankets for new babies born to the Compound to be traded for supplies when Sibyl traveled to the Market and for anyone who needed.
The woman reappeared with a small, handmade bracelet. Alma made them herself from the glass and trash on the beach the Compound overlooked.
Eloise smiled, slipping the bracelet, a piece of green sea glass caged in thin silver wire, onto her wrist. “It’s beautiful, Alma.”
The woman patted Eloise’s hand and beckoned them inside. Alma had never invited her inside before. “Oh, no. We couldn’t intrude.”
Alma’s hands shook as she reached up to grab Eloise’s arm. “Come.”
The simple word surprised Eloise, and she stared then stepped over the threshold.
“You spoke.” Eloise
flopped into a chair at the round table in the middle of the room. Bannack sat beside her, silent.
“Speak few words,” Alma said.
“Has anyone been helping you with your speech?”
Alma rubbed her leg when she sat in the third chair. The creak of the wood filled the small bedroom. “I can’t…I can’t…” Alma shook her head. She stood slowly, turned, and when she came back around held a piece of thick paper made from plant fibers and a piece of thin charcoal tied to a stick. Her hand moved carefully until she finished writing a word on the paper.
Eloise leaned forward and read it aloud. “Soora? Soora’s been helping you.”
“Yes.” Alma gestured to the side of her head. “Sunflower.”
Eloise couldn’t resist smiling. “Exactly. Do you like her sunflower tattoo?”
Alma nodded. Her eyes flicked to Bannack, her jaw clenched several times, and then she grabbed his hand that rested in a tight fist on the top of the table. He shuddered.
“Forgive.”
For a long time, Bannack said nothing. He sat, shaking like a leaf in an autumn breeze, and worked his mouth. When he spoke, he wheezed the words out.
“How can you after…” Bannack didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he stared at Eloise.
Eloise’s heartbeat pounded in her head. She looked at the bouquet lying on the table, contemplating finding them some water. The entire exchange between Alma and Bannack, plus his reaction, proved he and Alma shared a dark history.
Alma’s next words chilled Eloise’s bones.
“You. Bad things, yes. But you…walk away. Good for forgiving.”
“Why are you forgiving me? I…” Once again, he looked at Eloise, this time with damp eyes. He mouthed words at her that resembled an apology.
Alma reached for Bannack, but he flinched away, gaze stuck on her face. The old woman smiled and lowered her hand to her heart, gesturing to it with a single, gnarled finger.
“Here. Broken. You must pay…correct…no…atone. Yes. You must atone for pain. I hand you mine forgiveness.”
Antsy over Alma’s cryptic words and unable to stay quiet out of sheer curiosity, Eloise spoke. “Why is she saying she forgives you?” Eloise turned to Alma. “What happened between you two?”
Alma shook her head. “In time. Will share.”
“Bannack?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared at the bouquet before standing. “I have to go. Enjoy the flowers.”
Too stunned to move, Eloise watched the door close behind Bannack and he disappeared.
“Follow.”
Alma pushed Eloise from her chair, and she rushed out of the room. Her feet crunched on the gravel path as she ran into the open field near the garden beds. “Bannack!” Eloise yelled, spinning to look for him in the dwindling crowd. The golden light of the sun gave everything a warm glow.
She didn’t see Bannack.
Eloise clasped her hands behind her head then looked at the sky. The clouds, lit by the red and orange hues of the sun, moved lazily.
Okay. Think. Where would he go? Is there any place close enough he might run off to? A safe…location…
She knew.
His old house. There’s nowhere else on this earth he feels most comfortable.
Her feet propelled her forward and toward the broken bridge that, ten years ago, had been the only way onto the peninsula.
He was going home.
He has to be there.
***
Darkness filled every corner of the house. Cobwebs and vines littered the walls, stairwell, and windows, and blackberry bushes crept in through the gaping holes that used to hold double-paned glass. A thick layer of dust slept on every surface.
Musk from mildew spilled into Eloise’s nose. She sniffed, trying to move past the shock of being back in Bannack’s old home. What exactly had happened to his mom and sister? Bannack hadn’t talked about them willingly, and Eloise hadn’t pushed him after finding out he believed he caused their deaths.
As the wind whistled through the house, Eloise remembered the home as it appeared in the past. The discrepancy faded away and life came back. The charcoal carpet spread out through the entire house while paintings, done by Bannack’s mom, Gabrielle, covered the walls. As she walked underneath the curved archway, a vision of what the rest of the house used to be formed in her mind. A stunning dining room. Large kitchen. A lived-in living room. Laughter from a young Bannack and Malikah echoed throughout the halls as they ran up and down the stairs, the smell of the iconic chocolate chip cookies spreading through the house. Gabrielle had been famous for her cookies around the neighborhood. During the cooler months, kids would line up like hungry vultures, waiting for their pick of the gooey on the inside, crunchy on the outside chocolate chip cookies.
A bittersweet wave washed over Eloise. This house would no longer have life. Just a skeleton remained.
Glass fractured underneath Eloise’s old boot. She paused, dreading the picture hid behind the frame, but she bent over anyway and scooped it up. Using her glove to wiggle the shards from the frame, Eloise revealed the family she had loved as her own.
In the photo, Gabrielle, Kwadwo, Malikah, and Bannack smiled underneath the shade of green trees. Bannack, who looked to be about ten, had his arm wrapped around an eight-year-old Malikah dressed in a red sundress with her wiry brown hair pulled back into a tight braid.
They were so happy. So innocent.
Wiping tears from her face, Eloise placed the frame on a rotting side table, then adjusted her jacket and continued her tour through the house.
A long, anguished cry came from upstairs.
Eloise jumped, her heart pounding, and recognized the scream as Bannack’s. Her mind tumbled over itself as she rushed the stairs.
Another scream filled with fury drew her up to the second floor.
“Bannack!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bannack
He heard her call his name from downstairs, yet he didn’t care. His parent’s study had been raided and no amount of anger or screaming or hate could stop the brick that slammed into his gut. Bannack wanted nothing more than to find those who stole his father’s Ghanaian artifacts, his mother’s art, and separate their fingers from their hands so they couldn’t steal ever again.
How could I have neglected this? If I had been back at all After, I could have prevented this.
The room before him, double doors with shattered glass flung open wide, was in shambles. Spray paint in bright red letters mocked his maame’s and agya’s work with the local university. Bookshelves behind the desk had been ripped from the walls and were leaning dangerously over the dark cherry wood desk. Bannack remembered seeing his father sitting there, upbeat Ghanaian music filling the study, with a pen clutched between his teeth and a magnifying glass in hand as he poured over old texts. His mother would lean over his shoulder as she pointed at the document, excited. His father would glance up, smile at her, then invite Bannack to sit with them. They spent hours there, Bannack soaking in the stories of his heritage, his father laughing, and eating his mom’s cookies.
Now, all remnants of those memories were gone. The raiders not only stole the shield and spear Bannack helped his maame unbox, but they took it one step further and smeared slander and stinging words in paint across the walls and desk. They mocked everything his parents worked for and Bannack was helpless to defend them.
“Bannack? Where are you?”
Eloise’s footsteps on the stairs grew quiet shortly before he felt her presence behind him. She said nothing.
Good.
Bannack’s body shook. He held no jurisdiction over the words that would come from his mouth.
She touched his shoulder and he pulled away, a quiet growl escaping his throat.
“Who would do something so horrid?” She asked.
Eloise showed more bravery than he as she stepped through the door where frosted glass u
sed to be and into the study. She reached for the spray-painted words.
His stomach lurched.
“Don’t.” Bannack barked at her and Eloise retracted her hand.
As Eloise walked through the room, occasionally sifting through the strewn contents, Bannack sunk to the floor. His vision spun and blurred, and several tingling waves traveled through him. They had taken every last bit of his family from him. Everything his maame and agya had done together, built, was lost in the world with no way of recovery.
“Bannack?” Eloise asked. She stood close and Bannack lifted his head from between his knees. “I found this. It’s not much but…”
She held in her hands the djembe that lived in the south corner of the study. It was a goblet shaped drum, tuned with rope and covered with animal skin. Bannack and his agya had built it during the only trip to Ghana Bannack had accompanied his father on. The instrument his father had learned to play as a boy would come out only on Christmas, and the sharp, happy tone would fill the living room.
He couldn’t bring his hands up to touch it. Eloise sat beside him, the djembe between her knees.
“Everything is gone.” Bannack swallowed hard.
“We were able to find the drum. That’s something, isn’t it?”
Anger boiled under his skin. Bannack lurched to his feet and stomped up and down the hallway. He could barely rein in his words.
“No. You do not understand. The kente cloth, the recipe book he gifted my mother, our kigogo game, his papers and books on our people, and the sword and spear. Someone came here and looted all I have left of my family and my people! And I can’t even—My maame and agya spent their lives devoted to teaching others our history and they stole it!” Bannack gritted his teeth, air hissing as it exited his mouth when he turned to Eloise’s shocked face. “When have you ever had anything taken from you?”
As soon as Eloise narrowed her eyes at him, he knew he'd gone too far but held onto too much anger to fix anything at the moment.
“That’s not fair.”
With a grunt, Bannack turned from Eloise and down the stairs. He actively ignored all of the items that brought on memories of his family, his sister and mother murdered, and his father taken by sickness, and stood on the back patio. The metal railing still held strong. Bannack clenched his hands around the rough rust and screamed into the forest. He mourned for his family, for the life stripped from him, and cursed the life he was given by the cruelty of fate.