by Janeen Brian
“No.”
“Just checking she’s in the pink of health, then?” said the cook, with a twisted grin.
Eloise smiled a thank you and hurtled back down to the patch, where she eked out the bucket of water on the spinach plants. But even as she did so, the lurking feeling that all was not right stayed with her. With her heart thudding in her chest, she was up the tree in a flash.
Please let all be well. Please let the pond sparkle like stars.
But the water was dark, as if no sunshine had ever shone on it. It was murky and sat unmoving like the scum on Sully’s pea and bone soup. No birds hovered near it. None waded. Tufts of brown grass and reeds edged the pond, as though the banks had been scorched by drought.
A sick feeling rose in Eloise’s stomach. At that moment, she did feel ill.
One thing was for sure. That paper of Mr Jackson’s was important. It carried some kind of message. The thought that it could be a warning of sorts rose again in Eloise’s mind. Somehow, she had to get to that paper and decipher it once and for all. If she didn’t, who knew what would happen, given the speed of the damage to the pond?
After clambering down, Eloise eyed the spinach rows and their relation to the pond. Her apprehension grew.
Did others in the town know about what was going on outside their wall? Had they seen the pond with their own eyes? Was it the talk in the tavern? Had Mr Humple, the town crier, walked past it on his way to the next town?
This mystery carried a threat. Eloise felt sure of that.
And before she left the orphanage, she would solve it. Not only for her sake and for Mr Jackson. But for the whole town. Perhaps those old stories carried more than a grain of truth. Maybe the pond had previously been poisoned and its pollution and devastation to all around had become the germ of the story.
Eloise had to move fast. But Janie Pritchard was at the pump. So she had no excuse to go there now. And tomorrow, the girl would be shadowing her again.
What could she do?
Since Janie Pritchard had arrived, Eloise woke more easily than before. But that night, it was the wind. It blasted the windows, rattling them, until Eloise was sure there wouldn’t be one Littlie asleep.
She was mistaken.
But something was troubling Janie Pritchard.
Eloise lay rigid in her bed, as she did whenever the girl made weird noises. This time, however, because she called out actual words, Eloise was completely spooked.
“Go away,” the girl cried. “Go away.”
Eloise’s ears strained in a restless sleep, listening for the next outcry. After a lull, she turned and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.
“Don’t say that!” came another cry. “It’s not true! You’re lying. Go away!”
The hair on Eloise’s head stood on end.
“They’re not dead! They’re not. They’ll come back. You’ll see!”
Eloise sprang up to a sitting position. She immediately shot a look towards the other bed. She could make out Janie Pritchard’s shape, lying huddled with her face muffled in the pillow.
Now Eloise was wide awake. If Janie Pritchard’s nightmare continued, it might wake the Littlies, even if the wind hadn’t.
“Janie?” she whispered.
“What?” came a drowsy answer.
“You’ve been calling out. It might upset the children.”
The girl didn’t reply.
“I think you were having a bad dream.”
The bed squeaked as the girl turned onto her back.
“What was I saying?”
Eloise licked her lips, feeling foolish at repeating the girl’s remarks.
“I’ll try not to call out again,” the girl said. “But, just so you know . . . it wasn’t just a bad dream.”
“We shouldn’t be talking. Sister will come back and then I’ll –”
“I’ve had the same nightmare before. Ever since I came here. I can feel it coming on and I try to get away from it. It’s always at the part where some grown-ups come to the house after . . .” She burst into tears.
Eloise leaped out of bed. “Shhh,” she whispered urgently. “Shhh.”
But the girl kept on. “I miss them. I miss them. And I miss my house and . . . but I know that they’ll never come back –”
“Shhh,” whispered Eloise again. “Who? Who won’t come back?”
“They died in an accident.”
Eloise tried to link up the pieces. “So, was it your mother –”
“And my father. Both of them. On the same day.”
Eloise didn’t know what to say.
“Are you all right if I get back in bed?” she whispered.
“It wasn’t Merlin’s fault,” Janie Pritchard went on. “Not really. Something must’ve startled him. And he bolted. Like that horse in the cart the other day. My father was strong, but Merlin . . . I don’t know. Anyway, they were by the side of a gorge and the cart flipped. They all went over. Even Merlin.”
“I’m sorry,” said Eloise.
“I had a little sister too, once. But she died of whooping cough. I can’t remember her much. Not like my mother and father.”
“So, you’ve got no other family?” said Eloise.
“A grandmother. She’s old and blind. So she gave Sister Hortense some money to look after me.”
Eloise found herself floundering with all this news. When she first saw Janie Pritchard she didn’t know the girl had this story inside her.
But it also sparked a painful memory for her. “I hated that you saw me crawl out of that cupboard,” she said.
“I know,” Janie Pritchard said.
And at those words, something settled inside Eloise.
But what would it be like to have a mother and a father? And then lose them both in one day?
Finally, soft, sleeping noises came from the next-door bed. Only then did Eloise turn over and close her eyes.
Next morning, Eloise woke to the sound of windows shuddering. The wind had almost blown itself out, but not completely. Blearily, she blinked and yawned, but with a feeling that she’d woken to something unusual. She couldn’t fathom what, however, until she peered at Janie Pritchard, still huddled with her face pushed into the pillow.
The clumping sound of Sister Bernard grew louder.
Eloise shook the girl’s arm. “Wake up. Sister’s coming.”
Surprisingly, Janie Pritchard opened her eyes straightaway. Blue eyes, rimmed with red.
Both girls changed from their nightdress into their day clothes before Sister Bernard clapped the Littlies into wakefulness.
Eloise sat on the bed and dragged on one boot.
“Oh,” she moaned.
“What’s wrong?” said Janie Pritchard.
Eloise grimaced. “My boots are too small. And, before you say anything, I’ve already asked if I could get another pair.”
“You could have mine.”
“Sister wouldn’t allow that. Anyway, what would you wear?”
“Yours?”
“Mine? Look at them.”
“I am. Mine are too big for me. My grandmother bought me a large size so I’d grow into them. Yours look about the right size.”
“Hurry up, girls!” called Sister. “We haven’t got all day.”
“All right,” said Eloise. “We’ll swap.”
She slipped her feet into the new boots and stood up.
“Oh,” she said again. This time with a smile of relief.
“Much better for me, too,” said Janie Pritchard. “Now I don’t have to wear extra pairs of socks.”
“Girls!”
Eloise hurried around the screen, her feet taking painless steps. Who would’ve thought she’d end up with new boots? They almost skipped along the cobblestones, but still Eloise had her mind on things other than simply collecting water.
A glance towards the wigmaker’s shop showed it was not yet open. Which didn’t bother Eloise. She’d been rather disconcerted last time when the woman began talking
about her mother and father.
Someone yelled from a nearby house while at another, a front door opened and a man stepped out, dragging on a cap.
Eloise chose a house and in her mind set herself inside, writing a letter, reading or about to go to school. She also imagined her own bedroom and maybe going for a stroll with a friend.
Janie Pritchard walked alongside but spoke little. Eloise looked at her in a different way now, knowing her story. She was even sad for Merlin, the horse, who’d also died in the accident, but despite it all, she still held her secrets tight. She wouldn’t share Dancy and the strange occurrences with the girl. Nor the unicorn paper, nor the whole disturbing situation with Whittering Pond. She had to work it out herself.
Like she’d had to all her life.
What she did feel, however, was the urgency to unravel the message on the paper. She had to get to it quickly. And there was the other matter. What if Mr Jackson had news for her? Something he might know, because he’d kept his eyes and ears open.
“Who does that horse belong to?” said Janie Pritchard once they’d arrived at the pump.
“Oh, him?” said Eloise in a casual manner. “The blacksmith. Why?”
“He keeps looking this way and whinnying. Do you know his name?”
“Mmm,” mumbled Eloise. “Dancy.”
“You must know him, since you’ve been coming here for so long. And you keep looking over there.”
“Do I?” said Eloise, hoping her voice carried a sense of surprise. “Oh, well. We’d better get back, I suppose.”
But when she turned to walk back to the orphanage, it was as if her new boots had grown heavy and wouldn’t move.
She had to get to that paper.
Janie Pritchard looked at her. “Is something wrong?”
Eloise shook her head.
But as she did so, a bell clanged.
The town crier!
He cleared his throat and began to call out the news of the day. When he mentioned Whittering Pond, Eloise almost burst out of her skin. But she couldn’t quite hear what he was saying to the gathering of townspeople. Her nerves jangled and she was full of jitters. What was he telling them? What did he know?
“Hadn’t we be getting back?” said Janie Pritchard.
“Yes, yes,” said Eloise, her voice on edge.
The girl gave her a look and then started to walk.
Days went by and still Eloise wasn’t able to get time alone with either Dancy or Mr Jackson. It ate at her and kept her distracted from everything else.
Mr Jackson waved, but all she could do was to wave back. Janie Pritchard stopped asking questions.
And then one day, Eloise’s luck turned. As she wiped the last of the chamber-pots, Sister Genevieve approached.
“Good morning, Eloise, dear. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you, Sister,” said Eloise, a response that spoke nothing of her heart.
“I’m pleased. I’m off into the garden. However, I have a parcel that needs collecting in the town.”
Eloise’s insides quivered. Why was Sister telling her this?
“It’s a drapery order from Mr Fentwhistle’s shop, not far from the candlemaker’s. It consists of fabric for new cushion covers, needles, cotton and several hanks of embroidery thread.”
Stealthily, Eloise crossed her fingers.
“I have asked Mr Fentwhistle for the order to be ready sometime after lunch,” the nun continued, “and, as I will be conducting lessons, I wondered if you might be so good as to fetch it for me.”
It was a bittersweet moment.
Sister wouldn’t normally have mentioned lessons with the Littlies, so it left Eloise in no doubt who would be receiving lessons. However, her chest swelled with the joy of knowing she’d be on her own. In the town. She saw it as a wonderful chance.
“One more thing,” said Sister.
Eloise held her breath.
Please don’t spoil it.
“Mr Fentwhistle is a little deaf. Mind you speak loudly and slowly. And, although he has good intentions, he mightn’t have the parcel ready at the agreed time. In that case, be patient and respectful. I will inform the other sisters of your errand so no one need be concerned by your absence.”
Eloise hadn’t heard such wonderful words in a long, long time.
Scrubbing the staircase steps used up the morning hours and by the time a sharp aroma of cauliflower drifted in from the kitchen, Eloise was more than keen to sit down for one of Sully’s lunches.
But Sister Hortense picked at her roast chicken in a slow, finicky manner.
At last, she wiped her mouth with a cloth and rose from the table. Eloise let out a slow breath of relief and she and Janie Pritchard soon had all the plates cleared and back in the kitchen.
Shortly after, Janie slipped into the schoolroom and Sister Genevieve appeared, offering Eloise a small bag.
“You’ll find the correct money in there, Eloise,” she said. She raised a finger in the air. “Oh, one other thing. While in the garden, I noticed the spinach plants looked poorly. It may be a drier season than I thought, but perhaps another drink will help.”
Please. Not now, Sister. Not today.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll need you and Janie to fetch more buckets.”
A smile of gratitude flashed across Eloise’s face and she set off, her feet light and her head full of song.
The Littlies were outside, poking around the ground with sticks.
“What’s in the bag, Eloise?” said Polly.
“Money.”
“Real money?” said Mamie.
“Yes. I’m going on an errand for Sister Genevieve.”
Wilfred ran up and looked at the bag. “Are you going away?”
“No,” gulped Eloise, and gave a little nervous laugh.
“Why do you sometimes get out of bed at night?” he went on. “Are you allowed ’cos you’re bigger than us?”
Eloise thought quickly. “Have you heard of sleepwalking, Wilfred? People walk in their sleep and they don’t even know they’re doing it.”
“Oh,” said Wilfred.
“So . . .” Eloise let the idea dangle in the air and said goodbye.
Dancy was waiting. Eloise rushed up and flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, my beautiful boy,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you. You’re my unicorn on earth.”
Dancy gazed back with warm, brown eyes and it was hard for Eloise to tear herself away. But she had to see Mr Jackson. Too much time had passed already since she’d seen the state of the pond and heard a few fragments from the town crier.
In the forge, red coals and orange flames lit the space like a summer sunset. The deep clanging continued until the blacksmith looked up to wipe his forehead.
“Didn’t see you there, young filly!” he said. “Too much sweat in me eyes. Haven’t seen you much lately. Have you said hello to Dancy?”
Eloise didn’t know what to say. It was too complicated to try and explain about Janie Pritchard’s arrival. Besides, as usual, she needed time to work on the paper.
Mr Jackson stretched his back and went on about Dancy. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he? Nice nature, too. I be too old to ride him now, but I’ll bet he’d love a good stretch on those hooves of his. Pity I didn’t have a young filly like yourself to give him a ride. But, that’s the way things be, eh?” He peered. “Where are your buckets? Still at the pump?”
“No, I’m getting a parcel for Sister Genevieve.”
“Right you are, then. I’ll get back to work.”
“But I’ve got a little bit of time to look at the paper.” Eloise’s eyes lit up.
“All right, then,” said the blacksmith. He rubbed his eyebrow as if contemplating. “There be some concerned talk around town about Whittering Pond. I ain’t seen it meself, so can’t say if the words be true or not. But,” he folded his large arms, “even to an old crust like me, it do seem strange that some of those words be on that paper.”
“I know!”
>
“But unicorns and magic,” he added with emphasis, “that’s different.”
It’s very different. And I can’t tell anyone about what I think.
Taking great care of the paper, Eloise rushed up to the rock, in the shade of the tree. She widened her eyes and held the paper in different positions. At least everything she knew for certain was carved and copied on the rock.
But then something happened.
By holding the paper on a slightly different angle, a number and three words seemed to appear faintly before her eyes.
Eloise gripped the paper, as if to seal the words in her sight.
50 year earth cycle.
Yes, she was sure that’s what it said. Eloise snatched up the closest sharp stone and, with shaking fingers, scratched the number and words onto the rock. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. If only she could take the paper back to the orphanage to study it further. But where would she keep it?
She shifted her feet and when they came in contact with the cloth bag, there was a clink of coins. A reminder of what she had to do. And before Mr Fentwhistle closed his shop for the day.
With the bag in one hand, the paper in the other, and her head full of new possibilities about the message, Eloise hurried towards the forge.
It was only afterwards, when the shock settled, that Eloise realised she had heard footsteps behind her.
There was a voice. Confident and strong. “Ah, there it is. I’ll be having that, thank you.”
The next thing the paper was whisked from her hand and a man strode off, without Eloise catching sight of his face.
She flicked open her palm. It was flat and empty. For a moment, Eloise stared at it, as if the paper would suddenly reappear. When it didn’t, the horror of the situation gripped her. Her face burned. Her blood pulsed.
The paper had gone.
“Slow down,” said the blacksmith. “It ain’t the end of the world.”
But Eloise was shuddering, barely able to get the words out.
“And you say you didn’t get a look at his face.”
“No,” she said in a choking voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be upsetting yourself. Was he a big man or little? Do you remember something he be wearing perhaps?”