The Trouble with Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  “Giles, forgive me, for I didn’t mean to ignore you. How are you doing?” the kindly lady with the rosy cheeks and graying, silver hair asked as she pushed an extra grip into the bun on the back of her head to ensure that it remained secure before reaching out to give him a firm hug.

  “Well, Aunt Bessie, I have to concede to really enjoying being a chauffeur and butler, but there are times when Ralph, or rather, Lady Butterkist, can and regularly does overstep the mark, if you know what I mean.”

  “You bet I do,” she replied, giving a loud, hearty laugh. “But don’t you worry or fret, luv, because if she gets too big for her boots, come and find me, for I have a number of large rolling pins at the ready,” she quipped, her deep voice betraying her Cornish heritage.

  “I might just take you up on that,” he quickly retorted.

  As the girls were still sound asleep, they were carried up to their bedroom by staff members of the household and quickly tucked into their beds.

  Lady B. watched on as Aunt Bessie gave both of them a light kiss on the forehead before switching off the bedside lamp.

  “Bless their little cotton socks, they are so out for the count that to tell truth, you’d be forgiven for thinking they’d really kicked the bucket,” she rather wickedly remarked.

  “Really, Aunt Bessie!” Lady B. giggled.

  “Well, they are so sound asleep that they will probably not wake till the cock crows in the morn’,” she sighed as she closed the door of their room.

  As Lady Butterkist joined Aunt Bessie in heading down the stairs toward the kitchen, she used this moment in time to fill her in on everything she thought might be helpful regarding both girls.

  “Aunt Bessie, they have both been through an awful lot, and so I imagine in the days to come there might, well, be a few tantrums and tears.”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure there will be, and don’t worry, ’cos I’m quite used to that.”

  “Well, allow me to also inform you that the girls are suffering from a hideous lack of self-worth. Both girls believe they are useless and ugly, and as for dear Polly, why, she recently confessed to me that if she looks in the mirror, she sees nothing but a hoary monster looking back at her.”

  “Goodness gracious me! We certainly have our work cut out for us, don’t we?”

  “Lucinda is not much better, and it is only thanks to the sap of the Hoolie Koolie and Hubber Blubber that her wrist wounds are entirely healed. I fear her mind and heart will take considerably longer.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly brought them to the right place, for I intend to love on both girls,” the large, bubbly lady with the silver bun and kind wrinkles cried.

  “Yes, let me assure you, Aunt Bessie, that both girls have a real propensity toward becoming proper young ladies, and they truly do deserve our help.”

  “Trust me, Lady B., by the time they leave here, they will believe themselves to be princesses. We will work really hard to give them a new image of themselves,” she reassured.

  “Splendid! Now let me ask you, Aunt Bessie, how many other girls and boys are staying at the house at present?”

  “Well, let’s see. At last count we had eight boys ranging from thirteen to sixteen and nine girls, Polly and Lucy included.”

  “Wonderful, then they will have plenty of time to make other friendships,” Lady Butterkist commented.

  “Oh, yes. Definitely. Mind, we do work them hard, school work included, but we also play hard too. By the time the sun goes down, there are no arguments about bedtimes, for by the end of each workday they are all ready and eager to just flop into bed,” she said, giving a quirky smile. “At present we are bringing in the daffodils. Then we’ll be pickin’ the apples and cherries down in orchards. Then there’s the barley and wheat harvest, and so it goes on.”

  “Good.”

  “Yes, I’m glad to say that God’s fertile earth just keeps on giving us an overabundance of crops, and all He requires is for us to show up to sow and then till the land,” she said in her deep Cornish accent.

  “Tell me, Aunt Bessie, how is the animal sanctuary doing?”

  “Well, it’s as full as the house, for sadly, just like these children, animals are equally at the mercy of humans, who can be so intolerably cruel.”

  “Yes, it really does beggar belief,” Lady B. sighed.

  “Come see our latest addition. He’s a wonderful ol’ horse named Boxer who has been here for nigh on three weeks. His scars, mind, are more than visible to the naked eye, and if you look him straight in eye, it is clear he has been through much. I figure it may well be a good thing to allow Polly to befriend and nurture him.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Then we have a wonderful Scotch border collie we’ve renamed Lassie who also is severely traumatized, and so I thought it would be good to entrust her to the care of dear Lucinda.”

  “Aunt Bessie, it all makes my heart bleed, truly it does, for it is so very sad.”

  “Yes, but want to know something? As they care for and nurture these poor, darling animals, it quietly does a tremendous healing work on all parties concerned.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, and Aunt Bessie, I would be eternally grateful if you could find the time to once again show me around the animal sanctuary so that I can familiarize myself with all the new animals that have recently been rescued and brought here.”

  “Oh absolutely, Lady B., but before I take you ’round, I would like for us to find Giles and the rest of my staff. We can all sit down for a hearty supper of steak and mushroom pie served with tatties and other fresh vegetables and also plentiful crusty, home-baked bread. This will be followed on by apple and black currant crumble with thick, creamy custard. Oh, and a large dollop of clotted cream.”

  “Oh, it all sounds simply splendid to me,” Lady Butterkist enthused, “and I have always loved your homemade bread in particular.”

  “Why, thank you, Lady B. Mind it’s probably ’cos it’s full of healthy goodness with naught taken out.”

  That night Aunt Bessie could easily have served up anything she cared to, boiled beetle stew and slithering snake fritters included. I’m happy to say that on this occasion neither of these grotesque and unfamiliar dishes were on the menu, but if they had been, then they would probably have been enjoyed by everybody present as they believed it to be yet further evidence of Aunt Bessie’s highly imaginative and very creative cookery skills at work.

  I think it is also true to say that much more than the sumptuous food was the glorious and intimate fellowship of likeminded hearts and souls whose abundant laughter, like heady perfume, thronged the air above, for no price tag could ever be put on that. They therefore sat at the table for hours on end while all participants were given their fair share of airspace to talk of anything they cared. They lucidly shared personal stories of heartache and, likewise, stories of great joy, and it was as though none at the long table wished to spoil the magical atmosphere by being first to bid good night and leave to head off in the direction of bed.

  Finally, with the hour bending nearer toward dawn, they reached an agreement that all remaining stories still needing to be told should be stored away until the next evening, and they should all, without further delay, quickly head off to their bedchambers.

  On the way up the stairs Lady Butterkist turned to ask a great favor of Aunt Bessie.

  “Aunt Bessie, I need your help.”

  “Doesn’t everybody?” she replied, giving a wry smile.

  “Yes, but I know that that you were once a very gifted seamstress.”

  “So I am most humbly led to believe, although in all fairness I have to add that most who bestow on me such gracious words of affection usually need my help with something they are unable to restitch, adjust, or sew,” she very good-humoredly stated.

  “Well, I would really appreciate your kind help regarding my little problem. I brought this special dress, along with the shoes and tiara, for dear Polly. However, to my utter amazement, later o
n that same day I witnessed another child wearing the whole attire. I was very troubled and asked their guardian for the whole ensemble to be returned. It came as no surprise when perusing the bag I quickly discovered that the child, in a jealous fit of rage, had tried hard to destroy the outfit. As a result of this tantrum, the dress needs serious attention, as do the shoes. Luckily I bought an extra identical tiara, so hopefully Polly can still remain blissfully unaware of the horrible damage that has willfully been done to her prized possessions.”

  “All right, Mrs. B. If you care to leave the contents of the bag with me, then the first spare moment I get I will take a good look for myself. Hmm. I can probably do wonders with the dress, and I believe I can also save the shoes. So leave them with me, and you’ll have them back well before the first of many parties takes place.”

  “Aunt Bessie, you are a real godsend.”

  “Keep telling me, my dear. Keep telling me.”

  “Oh, rest assured I will, and I bid you a well-earned peaceful night. Good night, and God bless,” Lady Butterkist whispered, as with her shoes in her hand she tiptoed down the corridor toward her room.

  “God bless you too, dear. I hope your bed feels real comfy, and I’ll see you sometime after cock crows in morn’,” Aunt Bessie whispered back.

  The next morning the girls were gently awoken by reams of glorious sunlight streaming across their pillows.

  “Lucy, get up and come and look out of this window. Quick, make haste, for the view is really indescribably beautiful.”

  Lucy leapt from her bed and raced over to join Polly at the window. “Gosh, you’re right, Polly. It looks so absolutely gorgeous that I just want to run wild and free through those meadows and pick as many wildflowers as I possibly can.”

  As they stood by the window savoring the view, Aunt Bessie gave a hard knock and then poked her head around the door.

  “Well, me luvies, as of yet you don’t know me, but the name by which I answer is Aunt Bessie, and I’ll be the one looking after both you lovely lasses,” she said with a hearty, warm grin. “You were both fast asleep when you arrived here in the dead of night, so I didn’t get the opportunity to introduce myself or my small team of staff. But if after getting washed and dressed you’ll come with me, I will take you downstairs for breakfast and introduce you to all the other youngsters, as well as the rest of my wonderful staff. How does that sound?”

  Both girls broke into a smile and readily agreed.

  “So chop chop. The bathroom is through that door, and there are some fresh clothes, as well as a soft ’n’ fluffy bath towel, on the end of both beds. I’ll be back before you can say, ‘Jack Robinson,’ so you’d best get yourselves bathed straight away,” she drawled as she then quietly closed the door behind her.

  “She seems awfully nice, although I do declare that she is most difficult to understand,” Lucy stated as she picked up a thick, fluffy towel and demurely waltzed toward the bathroom.

  “Yes, I know her accent is so thick that you have to listen really hard. They also say words quite differently. I suppose it’s the Cornish way. Hmm. But setting that aside, you’re absolutely right, Lucy; I do believe we are going to like it here—very much, yes, very much,” she mused.

  With both girls washed and dressed, they had less than a spare minute before Aunt Bessie, true to her word, returned to the room to collect them.

  “Well, luvies, you both look as pretty as a picture, and I hope you’ve given your teeth a good scrub as well as brushed your hair.”

  “Yes, we have,” they both grinned.

  “Then both of you’s smell mighty fine to me,” she said, sniffing the air. “So, no more time for idle chitchat. You’d best follow after me.”

  Having gone down a steep flight of stairs, they turned a corner, and then Aunt Bessie pushed open a door and beckoned for both girls to follow her into the kitchen.

  As they stood in the large kitchen, Polly’s attention immediately fell on the huge cooking stove that had numerous pots boiling and bubbling away. Her eyes then fell onto a sea of unrecognizable children’s faces as they sat around two or three long farmhouse tables. Polly was immediately relieved to see Lady Butterkist sitting at the end of one of the long pine tables with Giles to her left and Tiddles to her right, as the pooch was securely strapped into an infant high chair with a bib around her neck as she too waited impatiently for her breakfast to come.

  “Polly and Lucinda, I insist that you come over here and join us,” Lady Butterkist beckoned as she pointed to two vacant seats.

  “Lady B., behave yourself, for you’re in my kitchen now, so I give the orders,” Aunt Bessie said very lightheartedly. “I need to introduce them to all my staff, as well as the other children before they sit down,” Aunt Bessie said as she continued to show who was boss of this establishment by overruling her ladyship.

  “Right. Listen up, everybody! Please allow me to introduce our two newest members of the family. Everybody, this is Polly, and this is Lucinda. Both girls will be with us till there’s naught left in fields to harvest. Then they will leave to return home in time for the new school year, so I believe that time to be early September. Am I correct, Lady B.?”

  “Indeed you are, Aunt Bessie.”

  “Well then, girls and boys, please make Polly and Lucinda feel at home by coming up after breakfast to quickly introduce yourselves. Also, as they are new here, they probably feel a little nervous and unsure as to quite what is expected of them. This is where you all fit in, for they might well need your help on some things. I ask you kindly to please do all within your power to make them feel as welcome as you yourselves were made to feel when you first set a foot in this here place.”

  Polly chose this moment to give all the children a friendly wave, and they all broke into clapping their hands before waving back at the girls.

  “Oh, Lucy, I already feel so at home in this place,” Polly quietly whispered in Lucy’s available ear.

  “Me too, Polly. Me too.”

  The girls were introduced to Aunt Bessie’s friendly and very lively team of helpers—Tim, Tom, Tessa, and Molly. Polly could not fail to discern that each and every one of them not only had a truly caring manner, but they all had just as healthy an appetite for good, old-fashioned fun.

  Over the next few months, Polly and Lucy would work hard as they joined other youngsters in gathering and preparing daffodils to be sold at the local market in the old town square. When they needed a rest, they would simply upturn their metal buckets and sit watching the old women with their deeply lined, sun-scorched faces, their heads covered with scarves, as they came up to the storehouse laden down with huge bunches of beautiful, bright, freshly cut golden daffodils.

  And when the daffodils were no more, they turned their attention to feeding chickens, milking cows and goats, as well as a large assortment of other farm jobs that were safe enough for all the young people to learn to do. More importantly, they learned to laugh again. Many a lunchtime found the pair of them lazing on their backs in the middle of a cornfield as they brazenly dared the sun to kiss and warm their freckled cheeks and foreheads as, chewing on long grasses, they intimately shared whatever their young hearts dictated.

  When the season to pick apples finally came ’round, they and others battled long ladders into the orchards and climbed high into the trees to pick the rosiest and juiciest apples, which were simply crying out to be eaten. Best of all, they were granted permission to ride at the front of the applecart, holding the reins as they guided the horses that pulled the heavy load.

  On more than one occasion, Lucy and Polly deliberately let go of the reins to stand up and shout into the warm summer breeze, “We are now the lords of the applecart,” as, soaring high, they burst into fits of glorious laughter before collapsing back down into their seats to once more grab hold of the reins.

  When they were not needed on the farm or in the orchards, they could normally be found hovering over the stove in Aunt Bessie’s large kitchen, holding
long wooden spoons as they waited to be asked to taste the dish in question.

  “Royal tasters, grab your wooden spoons and come and taste this,” Aunt Bessie would yell out. Both girls needed no further encouragement, as they raced each other to be the first one to dip a spoon into her cauldron of soup—or stew or bowl of fruit trifle. Aunt Bessie would stand by pretending to be anxious as she waited for the official verdict. It was always the same.

  “Truly scrumptious. Absolutely delicious. Ten out of ten every time,” they would cry as they licked their lips and dunked their spoon for the second time ’round. They often hovered over Aunt Bessie, their eyes wide as saucers as they studiously watched her turn the apples into a swirl of sweet, delicious nectar known to the locals as cider, and they were even encouraged to try their hand at making sweet and gooey apple and blackberry jam. Better still, Aunt Bessie was even prepared to turn a blind eye as they enjoyed the simple pleasure of licking out all her used pans of the leftover jams and jellies made by her fair hands.

  Oh, and let’s not forget the sweet honey they regularly collected from the bee farm. Unlike anything they had ever known, Aunt Bessie’s face never had a shadow or trace of anger when the foolish girls mischievously dipped their fingers into the sweet-smelling, thick honey time and time again as their craving for pleasurably sweet things intensified.

  The next few months saw the girls grow in natural grace and wisdom. They also used the time wisely by catching up with all their nagging schoolwork. Both girls worked so hard that in no time at all they rather miraculously discovered the true joy of learning. From then on they loved all schoolwork, math included, and they also loved their teacher, Mrs. Pickletree, so very much that both girls began to have a most voracious appetite to know more than ever of the big world about them.

  “Please, please, Mrs. Pickletree. We earnestly beg you to give us much more homework,” they often cried. Needless to say, Mrs. Pickletree always responded by sticking both fingers in her ears, as she absolutely refused to listen to such things, her main objection being that too much homework would make the girls both boring and dull. She remained totally adamant that both girls were to expend all excess energy in developing other recreational skills. Although her refusal to oblige quite clearly flummoxed both girls, it still did nothing to prevent them from regularly imploring dear, sweet Mrs. Penelope Pickletree for lots of extra homework to be given to each of them.