“What happened to her?” Katiyana queried.
“She got old,” Kapos began to explain, but he stopped. It must have hurt to remember; all of the dwarves obviously had a huge love and respect for the woman.
“She died last spring,” Kurz finished.
Jalb began clearing some of the dishes and preparing a pot of hot water to wash them. Then Duan called all of the dwarves away from the table to discuss something in secret. Kurz and Kapos followed him while Corto and Arrapato lifted Pokole into the air and placed him back on his small stool.
Katiyana watched Jalb dry dishes as he watched the others form a small circle around the fire and whisper.
When they finished, they faced Katiyana and Jalb. “We’ve decided to invite Kat to stay as long as she needs to,” Duan said. “In honor of Mother Dwarf.”
“In honor of Mother Dwarf,” the rest echoed in unison as they bowed their heads once more.
“Nobody asked me,” murmured Jalb.
“That’s because the rest of us agreed and either way the majority rules,” Kurz said, sounding annoyed at Jalb’s persistent antagonizing.
I had hoped for this. I couldn’t think of a better place for Katiyana than this safe and secret cottage.
Katiyana didn’t seem so sure. “As long as I can leave whenever I need to.” Perhaps she thought of Jeremy and hoped for his return.
“You’re not the slave. I am, you stupid girl.”
Katiyana smiled. She must have known by now—as did I—that Kurz only said such things to those he cared for most.
“She’ll have to earn her keep,” Jalb said, and I’m sure it was true. One more mouth to feed could send any humble household over the edge. “I may cook better than any woman and tidy things up impeccably, but sometimes I get tired of doing all the work myself.”
“She can go to market,” Kurz said. “She can take Corto and Arrapato to earn money and she can purchase things for us.”
“We’ll eat more bread than we’ve ever had before,” said Duan, shaking his hands in excitement.
“And maybe some wine here and there,” added Kurz.
“Yeah, and it’s better than one of us going and risking being caught,” Kapos reasoned. He turned to Katiyana to explain. “Kurz is the one who usually goes to market. But it’s risky. He’s been caught and sold into slavery at least ten times.”
“More like fifty-seven,” squeaked Pokole, and everyone laughed.
“It has not been fifty-seven times,” defended Kurz amid his laughter. “You silly, breakable dwarf.”
Katiyana looked to Jalb. “I’d be happy to go to market.”
Jalb grunted.
“I also know how to bake bread using things we could purchase at the market. It would even save a little money. I don’t know what a loaf of bread costs, but Jeremy always told me it cost less to buy flour than buy bread.”
“Well, you shouldn’t listen to any Simkins,” he murmured.
“At my old home, I did all the cooking and washing. I know how to do it all. I’d be happy to help you as well.”
Duan leaned in to Kurz. “She’s good at bargaining too.”
“Fine,” relented Jalb. “But if that Simkins comes back, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Careful, Jalb. There isn’t a lot to spare there,” Pokole said, shaking his head.
Katiyana bit her lip, but when even Jalb chuckled at the tiniest dwarf, she let her laughter free.
A Glimpse
With Katiyana safely tucked away in the depths of Fluttering Forest, I turned my thoughts to Jeremy Simkins. When I wanted to see someone in particular, all I had to do was think of a person’s name and an image materialized before me. I thought of Jeremy and there he was—sleeping and drooling all over the pillow he seemed to share with two other children.
I didn’t know what to think of it. What important things needed to be taken care of? Sleeping under his own roof in the comfort of his own home? If you could call it comfort; I wouldn’t. One of his siblings threw an elbow straight into his cheekbone as I looked on, forcing Jeremy to flinch and groan in his sleep.
He rose early in the morning, just as the sun began to give a hint of its existence by casting a far-off glow.
“Jeremy, where’re yer goin’?” one of the small children asked, sitting up in the bed as Jeremy laced his boots. What long, ratted hair she had! Even in the dark I could tell it would take ages to comb through, the way it crawled out from her head. I guessed it was more from lack of attention than a night of tossing and turning. Five of them slept in the same tiny room.
“I have to go to work,” he answered softly.
“Will yer be late again?” She rubbed her eye with her fist.
“Yes. It may even be a couple of days before I’m back.”
The child perked up, dusting off any remaining sleepiness. “Will yer be goin’ to the market? Will yer bring me somethint?” she begged with excitement.
Jeremy kissed her on the forehead. “Not this time. I’m sorry, Becky, but I can’t spare any money right now. Mother and father need it all to take care of you.”
“Well, will yer bring me a present then?”
Jeremy laughed at the sweet girl. I must say, the Simkins home was tolerable while everyone but these two slept.
He crept out of the room into the living area where more children slept. A woman cracked open the door of another room and peeked out. I remembered her as soon as I saw her, even though it had been years, and my peering into their home had been so brief. Her blunt, curly hair framed her fat face, and she wore a long nightgown that failed at hiding her innumerable lumpy curves. Cora Simkins. Dastardly woman.
“Don’ eat any o’ the food. I’ll need it fer the li’l ones.” By the looks of it, I thought, she would probably hog it all herself. “And don’ ferget. If you don’ bring back enough wages next time, don’ bother comin’ at all.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jeremy said.
Father Simkins came and stood by his wife’s side, creaking the door open wide. I struggled for his name. What was it?
“Isn’ tha right, Bert?”
Tall, slender, and refusing to stand up for the boy, he seemed like just the sort of man to do whatever his wife said. “ ’Tis right.”
Jeremy looked over the sleeping children and waved at Becky who had come out of her room to say good-bye. She rubbed both her eyes and yawned before waving back. “Good-bye, Jeremy. I’ll miss yer.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
“B’gone now,” Cora grumbled. “Bes’ not ta disturb her no more.” She pulled a shawl tightly around her broad shoulders.
With a confident nod, Jeremy stepped out into the damp of early morning. The sun remained in slumber, but a fraction of its coming warmth began to turn the frost on the grass into dew.
With the vast, level countryside of Mischief spread out before him, Jeremy set out, going who knows where. He hiked from farm to farm at a determined pace, asking for work. A farmer let him help dig an irrigation ditch in exchange for breakfast. But when the man learned Jeremy’s last name, he ordered him off his land.
At the next farm, he found a woman harvesting the last of her pumpkin patch. She knelt on the ground, cutting the stems off the vine.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Jeremy called out from the edge of her field of leafy green. “Would you have any work? I’m looking to be hired on, but I’ll take even an hour’s work if you have any.” He spoke with earnest, shaking his head with feeling as he twisted his hat in his hand. Sweat dripped from the ends of his hair. How desperate he looked. I wished I could help him somehow.
The woman paused—setting down her knife—and sauntered closer. “And who might you be?” she inquired.
He looked her in the eye. “My name’s Jeremy.”
She put her hands on her hi
ps. The faded floral dress she wore flapped in the breeze, as did the clothes hanging from a rope in the distance. “Jeremy what?” She sounded like the type of woman never to be trifled with.
“Jeremy Simkins.” He kept his gaze on her, even if a look of doubt came across his once hopeful face. Hopeful, but not foolish. I don’t think it surprised him when she kindly but firmly asked him to be on his way.
And so it went up and down the southernmost countryside of Mischief. I began to realize the most discouraging thing for anyone to endure is having the last name Simkins. One chubby woman ran after him as she waved a rolling pin, screaming, “You’d better get off my farm before my husband gets back or he’ll kill you!” One man threw his fist into Jeremy’s eye, landing him face down in a mixture of mud and hog slop. “That’s for the hay you Simkinses stole from me last year.”
“I’ve never stolen anything before,” Jeremy spat through a face full of filth.
The man kicked at Jeremy, his heavy boot catching him in the thigh before he scrambled out of range. “Get off my farm. And don’t ever come back.”
Bruised and discouraged, Jeremy trudged on until he came upon a line of trees shading a clear, pebbled stream. Gingerly, he knelt in the green growth by the water and washed as best he could, applying the cool liquid carefully to his sunburned skin. After slurping several handfuls of water, and resting for a brief moment, Jeremy headed toward town and Mischief Market. And what do you know? He hustled straight to the north platform where I guessed he would be looking for a man named Juno.
The same man who had sold Kurz to Katiyana stood on the platform before a small crowd, auctioning a collection of silverware.
“It’s the finest silver, to be sure,” he called.
A woman in the crowd began the bidding at seven silver coins.
“Now don’t be insulting,” Juno roared back. “This is pure silver, through and through.” He picked up a fork and bit down on it, pretending to break a tooth. His antics brought a ripple of sporadic chuckling from his audience.
“I’ll bid five doces,” a man shouted.
“Now that’s more like it!” Juno exclaimed “And we have five doces, a bidder willing to give five doces, and who will beat it?”
Jeremy stood back, appraising the crowd and waiting for his chance.
“All right then. For five doces from you, my fine gent, and here’s your silver.” He closed the lid on the rectangular wooden box.
The winning bidder moved up the steps of the platform to pay for his treasure.
“Here you are, sir.” Juno hefted the weight of the man’s silver in his hand before tucking the coins expertly into a hidden pocket at his waist. As he handed the box of silverware over, his eyes caught Jeremy’s earnest expression over the heads of the crowd. “Um, excuse me ladies and gentleman,” he began as he scooted toward the platform stairs. “I will be taking a short break. But don’t go far, I’ve many more treasures to tempt and please every last one of you!” As if released from a spell, the crowd began to disperse or chat idly.
Jeremy approached the platform. “Sorry, my friend.”
“Oh, that’s all right. They’ll come back. And what might Jeremy Simkins be doing here?” He looked past his friend. “I don’t see your apple cart.”
“I’ve lost my job at the orchard.”
Juno moved in close and whispered. “You have? What are you going to do?”
“I’ve been looking for new work. I’m sure I’ll find something soon.” Jeremy gave him a reassuring smile. “But if you hear of anything, you’ll let me know?”
“Of course I will, old friend.” He slapped Jeremy on the shoulder.
“Juno, there’s one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“Has a girl been to see you? A dark haired girl named Kat? She’s a friend of mine and I told her that if she came to you and mentioned my name you’d help her find lodging.”
Juno looked upward as if seeking divine inspiration. “No, not that I recall.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I think I’d remember someone throwing the name Simkins around.” He smiled, wide and carefree.
A puzzled look crept across Jeremy’s face.
“Will you be all right?” Juno asked.
“Oh yes, I’m sure I will.” But for the first time ever, I noticed that the boy lacked confidence in his words and expression. I think it unnerved him greatly that Katiyana had not been to see Juno.
Juno must have picked up on the change as well. He reached into his pocket. “Here. I earned this pair of doces just yesterday selling a dwarf slave.”
Jeremy accepted the money. “Thank you, friend. This will get me through the next week or so.” He turned to leave. “Remember to let me know if you hear of any work.”
“Will do, Jeremy. Will do.” He waddled his large body back to the center of the platform, calling out boisterously for spectators and potential buyers to return.
Jeremy slipped the money into his trouser pocket. Moving quickly through town, he took the road to Barney’s orchard this time, avoiding Fluttering Forest to his left and the span of farmland to his right.
He took long, quick strides away from town, reaching the orchard well before sundown. Under the trees, he slowed to a stroll, choosing out a shiny red apple from a low-hanging branch. He munched hungrily, savoring every bite. Then he ate another one.
Jeremy wandered toward the house, retracing the grounds he and Katiyana had worked for so many years. The land around him rested in total stillness, as though it mourned the loss of its caretakers. Passing the house, Jeremy peeked into the barn. Even the animals rested quietly. Feed had been freshly spread for them, suggesting to me that Barney worked on alone or had already hired someone new. But watching Jeremy’s face struggle through a range of emotion, from confusion to wide-eyed alarm and back, I guessed that Jeremy wondered if Katiyana had left at all.
Finally, quietly, he entered the house, stepping cautiously through the door to avoid its usual creak.
The dark house felt empty to me, though the soft rumble of snores alerted Jeremy to Barney’s sleeping form, slumped in the dusty old rocking chair. On tiptoe, Jeremy searched through the little house, seeing, as I did, no sign of Katiyana. Or of anyone else, for that matter. Descending back into the front room, Jeremy paused and stared at Barney a moment, the final echoes of sunlight casting rays on the unshaven face, the ragged clothing. What a pitiful creature. I mean Barney, not Jeremy.
“Is someone there?” Barney asked suddenly, his head still resting against the rocking chair.
Jeremy stiffened, holding his breath.
“Is that you, girl?” Barney sat up straight, the wooden chair creaking loudly in protest, and listened intently. When nobody answered, he covered his face with his hands and began to weep, a response that could have broken even the hardest heart. “What have I done?” he moaned, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “What have I done?”
Under the cover of his cries, Jeremy quickly crept back out the door, latching it silently behind him.
^-]
The next morning, Jeremy woke up on the ground in Barney’s barn. Hay lay scattered all around him and stuck to his clothing and hair. As Jeremy woke to the sound of bleating and pecking, Barney entered the barn, feeling his way along the wall toward the animal feed. He managed well enough, I mused, even without the benefit of his sight. I wondered why he’d been so lazy over the years. How much it had cost him!
Jeremy froze, trying not to rustle in the scratchy hay, but Barney stopped as he bent down to scoop chicken feed. “Is someone there?” he called out.
Jeremy held his breath, willing himself into complete silence, and Barney soon resumed his chores. As soon as he finished and had returned to the house, Jeremy gathered his small pack and thin jacket, secured the barn door behind him, and left the wa
y he’d come, his eyes sending a silent farewell to the trees that held so many memories.
Being out of other options, I suppose, Jeremy went home. With the aid of daylight, I began to remember what made the Simkins’ home so awful. The Simkins family lived in a home much too small for two adults and thirteen children. The outside and inside needed repair; one window tilted to the side and constantly let in a breeze. The inside walls were splattered with crusty food stains that probably dated back to when the first Simkins child began walking about with sticky fingers.
Jeremy looked to be the eldest, but not by far. And what a noise came from the house! All of the younger children greeted him with smiles and giggles. It didn’t surprise me given his interaction with Becky two nights before; he must have been just as sweet with all of them given their obvious adoration.
It appeared their clothing came from old curtains or bed sheets. The hair of one little girl formed a ratted ball on top of her head and two of the other children’s noses constantly produced a greenish gunk.
“D’yer bring a present?” Becky asked.
Jeremy, who had looked forlorn the entire way from Barney’s, picked the child up and produced a weary looking smile. “I’ve brought something even better than a present,” he told her as he swung her around and straddled her on his side. Becky giggled with delight, her laughter true and charming. She had a scraped knee, and her ratted hair stuck out in all directions. He pulled the two doces from his pocket and offered them to the little girl in a shabby dress. “Give those to the lady of the house, will you?”
“I’m the la’y of the house!” Becky shouted happily.
“Oh, right. I forgot. Well, give it to your mother. She’ll know just what to do with it.” Jeremy tweaked her nose and then set her back down.
When Cora Simkins saw the glint of money in her young daughter’s grubby hand, a wide grin nearly split her face in two.
“Where’d yer get this?” she asked Becky.
“Jeremy brough’ it. ’E said yer’d know just what to do with it.”
Cora sat at the table and turned away from the cornbread dripping with butter in her hands to look at Jeremy, who stood quietly in the doorway. “So yer’ve earned another couple o’ weeks. Have yer taken to stealin’ like the others?”
Snow Whyte and the Queen of Mayhem Page 7