Children of Eternity Omnibus

by P. T. Dilloway

  She runs towards the field in pursuit of a rabbit, hoping to catch it and ask Mother if she can keep it for a pet. Mother wouldn’t let her have one of Mrs. Applegate’s kittens last summer, saying Prudence was too little to care for an animal. “I have enough to look after around here without a cat,” Mother said. But now that Prudence is four and a half she’s old enough to have a pet. Annabelle next door got a puppy for Christmas and she’s only three.

  The rabbit darts to the left, into the rows of grain. She stops at the edge of the field, remembering what Daddy says about not trampling the grain. “That’s how Daddy puts food on the table for you and Mommy,” he tells her.

  She plops down onto the ground, waiting in case the rabbit comes back. She plucks a few strands of grass, weaving them into a mesh. Mother wants her to learn how to sew, but she doesn’t want to spend all her time indoors with a needle and thread. She wants to go on grand adventures like the knights Daddy tells her about at bedtime.

  The rabbit doesn’t come back after a while, so she gets up and walks along the edge of the field. She finds a broken stick on the ground and takes it up as a sword. She slays invisible enemies with the blade to rescue the fair prince from the evil enchanter. Before she can complete her quest, there’s a stirring in the field and Bradley appears.

  She jabs the stick at his bare chest. “I got you!” she says. “You’re dead.”

  Bradley falls down, sprawling out on the ground. “Oh, I am slain. You have vanquished me, brave knight,” he says.

  “You can’t talk if you’re dead,” she says.

  “I’m sorry.” He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “How’s that?”

  “Much better.” As she stands victorious over his fallen body, he reaches up to grab her arm and pulls her down on top of him. “Hey, no fair! You’re dead.”

  He tickles her belly until she giggles. “Now I’ve got you. Do you yield, brave knight?”

  “I yield. I yield!” He stops tickling her and instead musses her hair. “You cheated.”

  “I’m sorry, Princess Prudence. I beg your forgiveness. I shall die. Do you forgive me?”

  “You’re so silly,” she says.

  “Silly? Why, I do believe I feel a terrible fever coming on. I can’t go on. You best fetch your father and a shovel.”

  “I forgive you. I forgive you!” Prudence says.

  At once Bradley springs to life again. “I love you,” he says. “Do you love me too?”

  “Yes,” she says. She hesitates a moment before asking, “Is it true what Daddy says? That you’re going to the city to learn a trade after the harvest?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t stay here forever with you and your parents. I have to go make some money of my own to start my own family.”

  “Why? Why can’t you stay here with us?”

  Bradley puts an arm around her shoulder. She’s known him for as long as she can remember. He’s like a brother to her. She can’t imagine life on the farm without him. “I would like to, believe me, I would, but I can’t. Your father and I have had a long talk and we think it’s best for me now that I’m old enough to go out on my own to try different things and see different things. When you get older, you’ll understand.”

  “No I won’t,” she says, tears coming to her eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know, Princess. I don’t want to go either, but I must.” He wipes the tears from her eyes and smiles. “There’s something I want to show you before I go.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you. You have to see it. Come on.” Prudence climbs onto his broad shoulders, clasping handfuls of his sandy hair. When she was a baby, she remembered Bradley as skinny and pale, so weak he trembled when he picked her up. He’d grown much bigger and stronger over the last couple years.

  He carries her away from the field into the forest. “I can’t go in here,” she says. “Daddy says I’m not to go into the forest.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m here. You trust me, don’t you?”

  “Yes. What is it you want to show me?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  He takes her deep enough into the forest that she can no longer see the field or house. The trees are so thick that the forest is dark as night. “I don’t like this place,” she says. “I want to go home.”

  “It’s not much farther,” he says. “You don’t want to miss this.” She has to lean down now to keep branches from tangling in her hair. Mother keeps getting after Prudence about having her hair cut, but Prudence has refused, not wanting to lose her pretty hair. Now she wishes she’d let Mother cut it.

  An animal crashes through the brush nearby. Prudence cries out and yanks back on Bradley’s hair. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says. “I’m here.”

  He pushes aside a branch to reveal a creek. A fawn and its mother drink from the water, raising their heads to stare at Prudence and Bradley. Then the deer gallop off into the forest. “Oh, this is a beautiful place,” she says.

  Bradley swings her down to the ground and then sits next to her. “I thought you’d like it,” he says. He puts his arm around his shoulder. “This is our special place. Only you and I will ever know about it.”

  “It’s like a magic forest in Daddy’s stories.”

  “That’s right. Our own magic forest.” His hand slips inside her dress to massage her back. “I am going to miss you terribly. You’re the most beautiful child in all Wessenshire.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. Why I’d wager you’re prettier than all the girls in the whole world.”

  “Even prettier than Annabelle?”

  “She’s a hag compared to you.” Bradley leans down to kiss her on the lips. His hand on her back digs into her skin. She whimpers with pain.

  “What are you doing?” she says.

  “Prudence, I love you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every moment without you is pure torture.”

  “You’re being silly again.”

  “I’m deadly serious. I want us to be together forever. Come with me to London. I can provide for both of us.”

  “London? But I can’t leave Daddy and Mother.”

  “Don’t you love me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’ll be a grand adventure. We’ll see real princesses and princes and even the king. Isn’t that what you want?”

  She starts to cry again. “I want to go home,” she says.

  Anger flashes in his eyes a moment before he slaps her. “I thought you loved me!” he says. “You don’t care. You’re just like everyone else. Like my parents and your father. Fine, you can stay here and rot for all I care.”

  Prudence’s tears become sobs. She tries to run away, but Bradley still has a hold of her back. He pushes her down to the ground, clamping a hand over her mouth. The hand muffles her screams as he lifts the hem of her dress.

  The next minutes last eternities. She feels a pain so intense she fears she’ll split in two. Throughout it all, Bradley says, “You’re a naughty girl, toying with me like this. Now you get what you deserve.”

  By the time he finishes, Prudence can’t move. He stands over her, looking down on her with disgust. “If you tell anyone about this, they’ll banish you and you’ll spend the rest of your days begging for scraps. That’s what happens to little whores.”

  She lies there for a long time after he disappears into the brush. A whore, she thinks. She’s heard Mother use the word before when she thought Prudence wasn’t listening to describe Mr. Baker’s niece. “To think that whore is only twelve and already giving birth to her first child,” Mother had said. That’s what I am now, Prudence thinks.

  No one can ever know. She crawls over to the edge of the creek, looking into the water. Her hair is mussed and dirty and there’s a red mark where he slapped her. She does what she can to tidy herself up and then gets to her feet. The pain between
her legs is so intense that she whimpers with each step. No one must know what I am, she thinks, forcing herself to go on.

  Mother knocks on her door later. “Prudence, it’s time for supper. Are you feeling better?”

  Prudence raises her head from the pillow and emerges from the bedroom. Mother touches her forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Come on and eat something. You’ll feel better.”

  At the table, Prudence eats and eats without ever getting full while Daddy and Mother discuss what became of Bradley. “Have you seen him at all today, honey?” Daddy asks. Prudence shakes her head and then shovels a spoonful of potatoes into her mouth. “The boy must have decided to go out on his own. I wish he’d stayed around long enough so that I could pay him. I don’t know what he’s going to do without any money.”

  “He might come back,” Mother says. Prudence crams more potatoes into her mouth. He wouldn’t be back, not after what had happened. He didn’t want to be near her now that she had become a whore.

  The reverend pressed his cheek against Prudence’s. “After all these years, I never thought I would have you back. My beautiful princess,” he said. “Just as I remembered.”

  Prudence began to cry. “You did that to me. It was you!”

  “Yes, my child. A terrible thing I did, but now we have all eternity to make amends.” He picked the dress off the ground to swaddle her in it like a baby. “First I must purify this land. Then you and I will be able to regain what we lost.”

  She buried her head in the folds of the dress so that he could not hear her cry, knowing that three centuries of torment awaited her.

  ***

  Something cold and wet touched Wendell’s face. He reached out a hand to feel coarse fur. His eyes snapped open to see a black beast standing over him. He slid back until he pressed up against a wall. The dog approached, baring its rows of yellow teeth. Wendell threw his hands over his face, waiting for those teeth to sink into his flesh.

  A whistle stopped the dog’s advance. It backed away a few steps, resting on its haunches at the entrance to a circular chamber. Pryde appeared next to the animal, scratching it behind the ears. “He’s a quick learner,” Pryde said.

  “Where am I? Where’s Prudence?”

  “The reverend is dealing with Fatty.”

  “What does he want with us?”

  “You? He doesn’t want anything with you.” Pryde drew the knife from his belt and started towards Wendell. Again Wendell covered his face and waited for the end. The tip of the knife ran along his left arm, leaving a ragged trail of blood. Then Pryde drew the knife away and said, “He has a soft spot for Fatty. That’s the only reason I’m not going to finish you.”

  Pryde seized Wendell by the hair, lifting him into the air. Wendell clawed at him, trying to break his grasp, but couldn’t get free. Pryde held the knife at Wendell’s eyes, slowly lowering it along Wendell’s squirming body. With a flourish he plunged the knife into Wendell’s right thigh. Wendell screamed as the blade tore through him, coming out the other side. He screamed again as Pryde ripped the knife free and then threw him across the chamber to land in a heap on the floor.

  Wendell couldn’t stand up. He crawled away from Pryde, a streak of blood left in his wake. He curled up into a corner, his world growing dim. His body shook and his breathing became shallow. I’ve failed, he thought. He’d been given a second chance to undo Reverend Crane’s evil and to save the woman he loved, but he’d squandered it. Now he could only wait for his end to come.

  Three drops of liquid touched his injured leg. A few moments later, Wendell’s pain evaporated, as did any sign of his wound. Pryde stuffed a flask back into his belt. “No, you’re not going to die. Not yet. After the rev has his fun with Fatty, then you and I can settle up.”

  Wendell saw an opportunity in Pryde’s words. “Why are you taking orders from Reverend Crane? He needs your strength more than you need anything from him. Why not kill him and take all this for yourself?”

  “The reverend saved me from prison. I owe him my life. I wouldn’t expect a rat like you to understand.”

  “But you can’t believe all that stuff he says about The Way and creating God’s kingdom on earth. It’s nonsense.”

  “The rev can preach whatever he likes. It don’t mean anything to me.” Pryde held up his knife, stroking the twenty hash marks etched on the blade. “Soon enough I’m going to add a whole mess of savages to these. And then a few snooty elders. And then you and Fatty. I ought to get double for her.”

  Wendell threw himself at Pryde, clawing at the man’s eyes. Pryde tossed him back against the wall like a rag doll. “If you touch her, I’ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing. A puny thing like you shouldn’t go around making threats.” Pryde squeezed Wendell’s cheek until he winced. With the knife, Pryde sliced open Wendell’s shirt and peeled it away. “I brought you something I think you’ll be more comfortable in.”

  He reached into his coat and produced a frilly pink dress. Wendell stared at the dress a moment, recognizing it as the same one Rebecca, then Molly, and then Samantha had worn in the future. “I’m not putting this on,” he said.

  Pryde hit Wendell in the face, breaking his nose. “It’s not as if you have a choice,” Pryde said. He tore a piece from Wendell’s shirt to dab at the blood on Wendell’s face. “You can do it the easy way or the fun way. Makes no difference to me.”

  With tears in his eyes and blood still flowing from his nose, Wendell slipped into the dress. The dress fit him comfortably, as if made with him in mind. The feel of the skirt around his legs is so familiar.

  “Wendelle, it’s time for bed,” Mother calls.

  Wendelle puts down her brush and then leans close to the mirror. A fresh batch of thin orange hairs has sprung up along her jaw. They had begun to appear two months ago, a week after her twelfth birthday. Mother screamed when she leaned down to kiss Wendelle’s cheek before breakfast one morning and saw them. She locked Wendelle in her bedroom and then sent Isabelle into town for the barber, an old man with no hair except in his ears.

  “This is most peculiar,” he said when he examined her.

  “Why?” Wendelle asked.

  “Because—”

  “Just do your job and be on your way,” Mother said. The barber shaved Wendelle’s face without another word. Mother gave him a pound note, which Wendelle thought a little much. The hairs came back, growing even thicker over the next three weeks.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this on a woman,” the barber said the next time.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Wendelle asked in a panic.

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, dearie,” Mother said. She paid the barber and hurried him out the door. Wendelle supposes Mother will have to call for the barber again.

  On her forehead and cheeks, new pimples have blossomed and the skin there taken on a greasy sheen. The sores on her forehead she can cover with her bangs, but the others are more troublesome. Mother promised she could go to the St. Valentine’s ball with all the other boys and girls of Glensford, but she can’t go looking like this.

  “Did you hear me, dearie?” Mother calls.

  “I heard you,” Wendelle says, her voice cracking. She clears her throat and presses a hand to the bump that has appeared on her neck. Her voice has deepened over the last few weeks; she wonders if she should ask Mother to have a doctor examine her throat. It’s only a cold, she thinks. It will go away in time. “I’ll be only a minute longer.”

  She goes to the window to close the curtains. Outside, a fog has rolled in to cover the grounds of the manor. Isabelle hurries along the driveway to return home to her parents. The moonlight gives her black hair and tan skin a blue glow, like a spirit. The way she glides on her thin legs it’s almost as if some divine wind is blowing her along. Wendelle leans against the window, imagining what it would be like to dance with the beautiful Spanish maid.

  “Are you going to the St. Valentine’s Ball?” Wendelle had asked her this morning w
hile Isabelle made up her bed.

  “I’m afraid not, Senorita Palmer,” Isabelle said. “It is not allowed for servants.”

  “That’s nonsense. You can come with me. No one would dare throw you out then.”

  “You are very kind, Senorita Palmer, but I cannot. I do not wish to cause you such trouble.” Isabelle finished with the bed and then hurried downstairs.

  She pauses now to look up towards Wendelle’s window. Despite the distance, Wendelle can feel Isabelle’s eyes on her. She imagines rushing downstairs, meeting Isabelle at the gate. She reaches out to pull Isabelle close and kiss her raspberry-colored lips.

  Instead, Isabelle turns away and disappears into the fog. Wendelle closes the curtains. She puts a hand to her head, feeling faint. The organ between her legs—the “peehole” as Mother calls it—has turned hard and begins to pulsate with a life of its own.

  Wendelle stumbles over to her bed, lifting up the hem of her dress to study the purple organ standing rigid between her legs. She strokes it with one hand, a ripple of pleasure running through her body. She repeats this until a white fluid explodes from the peehole, accompanied by a rush of electricity that brings a contented sigh from her throat.

  Mother’s scream shatters her elation. “You vile creature!” Mother shouts. “How could you?”

  Wendelle hurries to cover the deflating peehole with her nightgown. “I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t know what happened to me. I was standing by the window—” Mother slaps her before she can finish her explanation. Wendelle cries out as Mother hits her a second and then a third time. “I’m sorry!”

  Mother seizes her by the wrist and drags her from the bed. “I’ll not have you performing such disgusting acts under my roof. I raised you as a proper girl not as some harlot.” She hurries Wendelle downstairs and then into the cellar. They continue along a dank passageway, the smell of decay becoming unbearable to Wendelle’s nose. She presses a sleeve to her face to keep out the odor.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.