by Nathan Roten
Now back on Greenwood property, he slowly made his way up the steep gravel road and past the three ancient willow trees in the front lawn of the Orphanage. As he crested the hill, Graham noticed a thin and wiry boy stealthily making his way out of the side entrance of the Parlor Room. Weighing in at 85 pounds soaking wet, 5’3” tall with jet black hair, greenish-hazel eyes and small button nose, Damien was Graham’s best friend. Since leaving Peru as a small child, he never seemed to lose the golden, South American tan.
“Que haces? Porque eres tan descuidado!” Ms. Winstone has been looking for you for over three hours!” said Damien, trying to yell as loud as he could while still whispering in his Latin-Spanish accent. “You never stay gone this long. What is going on?”
“I know, I know…..it takes a while to search all of Wellington. I was going as fast as I could,” replied Graham. “Now let me by, I need to get back inside.”
Graham had already lost control once today; he was not going to do it again, especially in front of Damien. He had to get away.
“Hey wait!” Damien grabbed Graham’s arm and pulled him back. “I don’t know how much longer I can be your watchman, Graham.”
“Look Damien, you and I both want to find out what is going on. Both of us cannot go to Wellington, and I know my way around the woods surrounding the market much better than you do. This is what we agreed on, right?”
“Yes,” Damien murmured as he rolled his eyes.
“Good, it is settled then.” Graham pulled his arm from Damien’s hand and continued quickly towards the door.
Damien wasn’t going to let Graham walk away again. Sprinting after him, Damien again stopped Graham with a hand to his chest.
“Listen, I don’t know what your deal is right now, but we need to talk. How about you try talking to me for once instead of avoiding me like the plague.”
Graham took a deep breath to hide his frustration. He knew Damien was getting tired of being pushed to the side, but over the past few months, his unexplainable power had become increasingly more difficult to control and hide. He was only trying to protect his best friend, but he recognized that Damien was not about to let him walk away without some answers.
“Fine. Maybe when Ms. Winstone’s friend comes over again, we can find out more about this mystery person. Her last conversation didn’t exactly give us much to go on. It is like I am looking for a ghost. The only thing I have to go on is the fact that there is a huge guy in town named Cavaness, who can do things normal people can’t.”
Glad that Graham was finally talking to him, Damian tried to concentrate on what Graham was saying, but the fear of being reprimanded by Ms. Winstone kept him on edge.
“We both need to be in on the conversation, so we don’t miss anything, ok?” whispered Graham. “We need a plan. I only got the final part of their conversation last time.”
“Sí” replied Damien. “Now, vamos, we need to get back inside. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Why don’t you go to the West Wing and act like you have been hiding there. If I see Ms. Winstone, I will tell her that we have been playing hide-and-seek.”
“Hide-and-seek? What are you talking about? We are fifteen, Damien. We don’t play hide-and-seek.”
“Hey, its the best I’ve got right now. You have any better ideas, amigo?”
Graham thought for a few seconds and realized he could not come up with anything better, so he reluctantly agreed. He put his two fingers to his forehead and flicked them towards Damien as a salute, before easing his way back through the rusty storm door of the Parlor Room. Damien breathed a sigh of relief and decided he would just go back in through the front door, as if returning from looking for Graham’s hiding spot outside.
As Graham made his way through the Parlor, he slowly poked his head through the doorway peering into The Commons to see if anyone was there. Seeing no sign of life, he made his way past the large leather armchairs and the giant fireplace.
“Stop looking at me, Alexander,” breathed Graham, addressing the portrait overtop the aged wooden mantel as if he were alive. “You give me the creeps every time I walk by you.” There was nothing overtly disturbing about the portrait. It was only a picture of the Founder of Greenwood taken from the chest up. He was in a coat and vest, looking slightly upwards like most people do in portraits. A small grin could be detected underneath his large beard, and he had the air of a man who took great pride in what he stood for. He actually had a kind face, but there was just something about it that was unnerving to Graham.
Moving on, Graham finally made it through the Commons, stopping at the threshold of the main hallway between the two wings and the dining room. On each side of the door leading to the dining room, there was a grandfather clock positioned to give scheduled rings for each wing. One for the boys and one for the girls. Just past the clocks were two giant staircases leading to each floor of the wing of the Orphanage. The main level was for staff. The second level was lined with study rooms, utilities and offices. The only thing on the third floor was bedrooms.
The gongs of the Grandfather clocks downstairs signaled that it was study time. Perfect! I will just walk in there with the others as if I have been here the whole time. He darted up the staircase. Graham looked down the hallway and noticed for the first time that it was strikingly bare. Every 20 feet or so, there was a gap between doors with blank wall space, in front of which was a small table with a vase or small sculpture on top. Above the table hung a portrait of either a prominent past staff member or nature scene.
After seeing a few kids in the first three rooms, he decided to keep moving until he met a group of kids to mingle in with. He turned to walk back, but immediately tripped, falling flat on his face. His cheeks turned red with embarrassment as he stood up. With a slightly bruised sense of pride, Graham looked behind him to see if anyone noticed his clumsiness.
Expecting to see a vacant hallway, he turned around, only to be greeted by the large, round belly of Mr. Kobble. It felt like an eternity as Graham’s face plunged into that rounded gut. He could feel the large buttons of Mr. Kobble’s vest against the bridge of his nose as he took in the overpowering smell of a woodsy cologne. As Graham tried to recoil and flee the scene, Mr. Kobble grabbed him by the shoulders with his strong, stubby hands.
“There ye are, lad!” He belched. “Werd has it Ms. Winstone has been searchen fer ya,” said Oliver in his rich Scottish accent. “Better that I find ya than her, ya know. She is a bit cross today.”
Graham forced a small grin and politely nodded his head.
“You’ve seem’d like a ghost these past few weeks Mr. Graham. Wha’dve ye been up to that makes ye so scarce round ‘ere?”
Mr. Kobble guided Graham past the sculptures, beyond the staircases and through the middle section leading to the office of Ms. Winstone, the Head Matron of Greenwood.
Graham’s first response was to begin talking and let his imagination fill in the details. “Well, I’ve been seeing rats running around my bed at night, so I thought I could follow them back to their colony.”
As he was saying this, Graham knew this was a horrible excuse for a story. He mentally kicked himself. Colony! Rats don’t live in colonies, you idiot. You can do better than ‘colony’.
Still in full stride, Mr. Kobble replied, “Well, its-a good thing we have ya ‘round Mr. Graham. Can’t be hav’n colonized rat families eat’n all yer grub, now can we,” said Mr. Kobble with a slight grin and a hint of sarcasm. “Well, here ya go. I suspect Ms. Winstone is done with her afternoon tea. Now’s just as good of a time as any.”
Mr. Kobble removed his right pork-chop of a hand from Graham’s shoulder and balled it into a fist. With minimal effort, but huge impact, his booming knocks on the door caused Ms. Winstone to let out a small shriek of surprise.
“Ms. Winstone, I’ve got a little fella here that I believe you want to see.”
“You found Graham?” Ms. Winstone replied, still a bit frazzled.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Wonderful. Please show him in.”
Mr. Kobble opened the door to reveal Ms. Winstone sitting at her desk with her fingers interlaced, forming one big fist that rested on her desk. “Thank you very much, Oliver. I will take it from here.”
“Yes Ma’am.” With a quick nod of the head, Mr. Kobble gently closed the door.
Now completely focused on Graham, Ms. Winstone held out her hand towards the empty chair in front of her desk. “Please, sit.”
Graham followed orders and took the seat. Looking around, Graham noticed that the room was strikingly bare. The craftsmanship of the rest of the Orphanage flowed into her office with its ornate woodwork and 18th century charm, but Ms. Winstone never added any of herself to it. All the walls were bare, except for one, which held the yearly picture of each group of children housed at Greenwood. The rest of the room seemed like a metropolis with stacks of papers and folders towering like high-rise buildings. There was not even a single photograph of Ms. Winstone or any family members.
Without any pleasantries, Ms. Winstone got straight to the point.
“What are you doing?” she asked with an intense stare.
“Well, er, um….”
“Let me expand. What are you doing when you leave here every Saturday?”
“I just go to be by myself, Ms. Winstone.”
“And what does one do by one’s self?”
“Nothing specific. I guess I just go out so I can be alone. I don’t like being in crowds. It makes me anxious, and since this place is filled with people, I have to go to somewhere where I can be by myself.” Graham understood this would get him in trouble, but he never could conjure up good lies. The rat colonies proved that. “I… go into the woods.”
Not surprised by the news, Ms. Winstone kept probing. “Is that all you do? Go into the woods?”
Graham’s gut sank. What do I tell her? If she knows I go to Wellington, she will never let me leave the building again, but if I lie, she will know, and I will never leave the laundry room. Story lines raced around in Graham’s head in a flurry of non-creativity until his conscious calmed the storm and prevailed.
“No, ma’am,” Graham let out with a sigh.
“And what exactly is it that you do, Graham?”
“I go to...Wellington.”
“Wellington? That is more than seven miles away! What on earth are you doing there?”
“It is not that far if you go through the woods, and I don’t go out on the street. I always go up on a rooftop balcony by myself. I just like to watch everyone go about their day.”
Ms. Winstone sat silent for a moment taking the story in. After some reflection, she got up out of her chair and walked over to the wall of photographs. As she looked over the faces of each of the children, she chose her next words carefully.
“I would have thought you learned your lesson years ago after getting lost in those woods, Graham. You nearly gave me a heart-attack being gone for so long.” Still looking over the faces of the children, she softened her tone as she said, “Graham, I am responsible for the welfare of each and every child in Greenwood. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Then you know Wellington is a gathering place for people coming from many different walks of life. Some people are good natured. Others enjoy mischief. Some even find fulfillment in hurting other people.” Ms. Winstone turned around to face Graham. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes softened a bit as her typical facade of non-expression gave way to a slight compassionate smile. “Life is very different outside these walls and I don’t want you to experience the bad side of it. Not yet. Life throws all sorts of unknowns at you that will take you down paths you never knew existed.” She paused for a moment, either for reflection or dramatic effect. Graham could not tell which. “Innocence is a perishable gift, and I want you to keep yours as long as you can.”
Graham didn’t know what to say. The first thing that he could not process was the fact that Ms. Winstone was being nice. Caring, even. It wasn’t that she was unusually evil - she was just strict all the time. Catching her smiling was like spotting a unicorn. You have heard tale of its existence, yet no one was ever able to bare witness to its existence. The second thing he had issue with was the thought of being banned from his place of happiness and solitude. It was his safe haven, and the thought of losing it was unbearable. The turmoil he felt inside was evidently etched into his facial expressions, because Ms. Winstone immediately took notice.
Ms. Winstone’s strong suit was discernment. That is why she eventually climbed the ladder to the big chair at Greenwood. Having been brought up under the motto of ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ however, she was never any good at finding the line between outward displays of compassion versus strict compliance to the rules and the swift discipline of folly. As she took in the expression on Graham’s face, other questions came to mind.
“I’ve never noticed your absence until just recently. Now, it seems as though you are gone more than you are here. What keeps you away so long?”
“Um…, just get caught up in looking over the market, I guess.”
Ms. Winstone’s partial grin disappeared as she squinted down at him.
“No, it is more than that, isn’t it.” The two stared at each other, each trying to guess what the other was thinking. She analyzed the situation until it dawned on her.
“You heard me talking about Cavaness, didn’t you?”
Graham’s eyes widened.. “I, um…well…”
“That’s it. You wanted to see if the rumors were true.”
Ms. Winstone sat back down in her chair and re-laced her fingers. Knowing now what Graham was truly after, her grin returned with the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. “Are you seeking out Cavaness because of the stories?”
“Ummm..”
“I know Cavaness. He is skilled in many areas, but magic is not one of them. He has a reputation around town for that sort of thing, but I assure you, his methods are not mystical. Magic does not exist outside of fairy tales, Graham, and chasing it is even more foolish than believing in it.”
Graham let his head fall as he looked at the floor in anger. No, I won’t believe that. If this guy is anything like the stories, then I have to find him. I don’t care how foolish I seem.
Ms. Winstone’s gaze never left Graham’s face. “Don’t believe me? Well, I suppose I will have to set up a little meeting with you and Cavaness so you can see for yourself. I am having a friend over tomorrow evening who is close to Cavaness. I’ll see what I can do, so we can put all this nonsense to rest.”
Ms. Winstone studied Graham’s face, peering into his eyes as if they were windows into his thoughts. “Graham, I am not exactly deaf, you know. During our evening rounds, Mr. Kobble and I can hear you scream in your sleep. You have a vague past. Foggy memories can produce a strong desire for answers. In your pursuit for understanding, repressed memories and experiences can bubble up to the surface in dreams. It is a way your mind is able to cope. Whatever you are dreaming about, dear, you are looking for real life answers, not magic remedies. If you want help, all you need to do is ask. As a matter of fact, I remember a former guest here that-” Just then the dinner bell sounded, cutting off the conversation.
Ms. Winstone let the ringing stop before speaking again. “We will talk about this later. For now, I expect you to understand that you are not to go to Wellington. I know you love it there, but it is simply too dangerous. Also, you must learn to confide in someone, Graham. All orphans struggle with trust, especially when the people who were suppose provide love and care abandon them. I get it, I really do. Your parents may not be here, but I am. Mr. Kobble is here as well, and we are not leaving anytime soon, so if you need anyone to talk to, then you can rely on us to listen. Now, I suppose all of your game playing has made you work up quite an appetite.”
“Yes, ma’am.” In Graham’s disappointment, that was all he could muster. The mention of his parents made hi
s cringe. If she only knew…
“Well, why don’t you go get ready for dinner then. I can smell the fresh biscuits coming out of the oven now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Graham’s stomach rumbled as he stiffened his legs to stand up out of his chair. As he turned around and grabbed the door handle, Ms. Winstone’s voice followed him out with one final reply.
“Remember Graham, putting yourself out there may indeed expose you to pain, but it also opens you up to the good things in life like love and companionship. Those who reach out for help usually find it.”
Without turning around, Graham gave a light nod of his head and continued out the door. He did not want to talk to anyone. He made his way to dinner and sat at the long dining room table in a daze as Damien ranted on and on about one of the kids who was pranked by being blasted with the “broth bath,” which meant that someone had put chicken bouillon cubes in the shower head. Every so often, Graham would nod or give an ‘uh-huh’ or ‘yep’ so that he seemed like he was following the story. Finally, the gongs of the grandfather clocks gave their bed-time chimes.
Saved by the clock, Graham made a quick escape to his room. Neglecting the normal bedtime routines or any form of hygiene, Graham pulled off his shirt and jeans to slip into his ragged, white t-shirt and a pair of torn mesh shorts. Once in the safety of his bed, he grabbed his small rubber ball and tossed it above his face. Tossing the ball mindlessly up and down was his nightly routine to help clear his head. After about ten minutes, he felt the first tug of exhaustion. He put the ball back on the small table beside his bed. Then, pulling the covers over his head, he willed himself to sleep.
“Control…Cavaness, you have to help me control it...” he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.