“I can tell you, it’s nowhere you’d want to be.”
“I doubt that to be true,” he said scoffing at his ignorance.
Billy snickered. “No one ever escapes Woolbury. You know that. Even I’ve got Ms. Menagerie reminding me. ‘Woolbury is home and the outdoors are too dangerous for the likes of us,’ “ he concluded in an unflattering high pitched voice.
“But you’re not from here. You’ve seen what it’s like on the outside,” Abbott said while he flipped a stone in his hands and tossed it. “I just want to… see what is beyond this place. The ocean or the mountains or timbers of the north.”
“You’ve been reading your book too much. It was terrible out there. Honestly speaking. Once you’re out there, you’ll want nothing more than to be home again.”
Abbott was doubtful. Billy could see it resting on his face. His ears were no longer listening to the advice of his friend. He had to protect his deepest desires after all.
“If you decide to leave one day,” Billy said, brushing the dirt from his palms, “I’ll come along. Why not. It may not be better out there, but I have been looking for a reason to let that old hag know just how much I appreciate her hospitality.”
The corner of Abbott’s lip curled. “Deal.”
They combed through the damp trees, near the mushy parts of the stream bed where boots get stuck, but with no success. These little fungi were not to be discovered, even by a native. When the cold feeling of water slithered its wet way into their clothes, they finally decided to call off their search. It was getting rather late, and they both knew the real fun was in watching others toil.
“Dr. Copeland will be dropping by in half an hour,” Abbott said peering into the woods without reason. “He hasn’t been getting any better lately. I’m hoping there’s something he can do. There has to be.”
“Sorry to hear that mate,” Billy said sniffling his nose. “Give my best to him would ya? Ms. Menagerie will probably have me clean the stables again. She’s been giving out lots of orders now that the celebration is tomorrow. Will I see you around later tonight? I heard there will be quite the showmen this year.”
“Perhaps,” Abbott said blankly as he stomped his wet boot into the dirt, spat into his clammy hands, and offered Billy his palm— their secret handshake.
“Good Afternoon Ed,” a stout doctor said as he set down his plump leather handbag. “How are we feeling today? Better than my last visit? A grey morning today isn’t it?” He removed a silver stethoscope from his bag and placed the steel bell over Ed’s hairy chest.
“As well as to be expected,” replied a gargled voice. “Seems all mornings are grey for me.”
Abbott stood silently in the corner of his Father’s room studying as Dr. Copeland did his usual routine. He checked his vitals, verifying his findings more than once as Abbott expected all doctors did. But the lines of Dr. Copeland’s face appeared to be far less than appeased with what he’d concluded. Bad news. Or by chance, it was good news that surprised even the likes of Dr. Copeland.
“Turn onto your side, please.”
“How are things with Mary?”
“Oh, she’s alright,” the doctor divulged, “she’s a bit down about the turnout of her garden. Been staring at withered plants for weeks now. I’ve been telling her to look on the bright side, it’s less work without the garden. She nearly had me sleep over in Blackwood’s stable over the comment.”
“Been an unusual year, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed it has. You can turn back over Ed,” the doctor chuckled.
“I should like to eventually tend to my own.” Edmund peered through the window on his left. It looked no better than what he imagined Mrs. Copeland’s garden to look like. “This place is starting to look rather tatty about. There’s only so much I can do around here. God willing. And my boy already has enough on his hands to deal with.”
“All in due time,” Dr. Copeland said shoving his stethoscope back from whence it came. “I’ll be back in a couple of days to check on you again. There is nothing new to report, and the medicine from Brighton still has not arrived. I expect it to when the traveling band shows up. But these sorts of things do often work funny.” The doctor offered Mr. Bradbury a departing handshake. “Keep well and try to rest. We have an unexpected few days ahead of us.”
Abbott followed suit behind the doctor as he made his way out. “What did you find? Is he getting better? What medicine should we get? The medicine from Brighton, will it actually help him? Is there anything I can do to help?”
The doctor said plainly, “Nothing at all I’m afraid.”
“That’s a good thing right? He’s getting better?”
Dr. Copeland shook his head and placed his arm on Abbott’s shoulder. “You can’t save your Father’s life sonny,” he said, peering down the narrow bridge of his nose underneath rounded spectacles. “The sooner you realize that the less heartbroken you’ll be when he’s gone.”
“But you said last week—“
“The illness has progressed at an untamable rate. Before long, he’ll lose the ability to walk. I predict he has mere months left if we’re lucky, but I’ve been wrong before. Your Father is a strong man. He may just surprise us. Nevertheless, quality of life is dearly important at this phase of his illness. Do manage to see his wishes are met before his final days.”
“So you won’t help him?” Abbott said with barred teeth.
“There’s nothing a doctor can do now. I’ve just told you.”
“We’ll see about that,” Abbott said retrieving the doctor’s wool coat and escorting him out the door. He slammed it in frustration. His head slumped against the flat wood and he slid down to the floor in tears. Dr. Copeland was every bit responsible for feeding him a false narrative. As tears welled from his eyes, he thought very intensely about the doctor’s words. Where was he to go from here? “There must be something I can do,” Abbott muttered, wiping away the sadness and burying it deep, deep down. If the doctor would not help save his father, he would have to find another way.
2
As the day progressed, more travelers entered Woolbury. Hairy mules pulled brightly decorated caravans. One depicted a man flying on the back of an eagle. The children watching giggled and laughed as the man leading the line tossed little chocolate dragon eggs at them. He was missing a few teeth in the front, but he puffed the smoke from his pipe with gaiety.
“Another one. That’s three so far!” totted off one of the younglings. “Father says they’ve all traveled from across the world to be here. From places called Ire-land and In-dua. What wonders I say!”
“My mum says they're all from Par-us. Rich folks looking for coin,” another child purposed.
“We’ll see,” they all said laughing.
“Yah!” The reigns snapped like thunder, and a line of more caravans with men of all races exited the forest. The traveling circus had arrived in town. There were families and animals with one sole intention, find a Woolbury Waxy Cap before the end of this week or risk returning home empty-handed. The prospect of a fortune beyond their wildest dreams was enough to risk it all.
When the eldest men arrived, they went straight to Woolbury’s pub to start wagering bets with other gamblers. Old age would not allow them to participate. It was a young man's sport after all. But it was not to say, they could not grow wealthy from the sweat of another man's brow.
As the sun began to set, Woolbury was crawling with crowds of strange folks. They were coming out of the local’s ears. They’d hardly known where to put them all. Canvas tents were pitched where plots of land were available, and horses roamed lazily through the town grazing on the hillsides. Guests began lighting fires to accompany the changing time of day, marking the start of the feast and festivities. Woolbury was overrun with foreigners, and no one was sure whether they took pleasure in that or not.
After the last mule entered, there was a grand total of one-hundred and seven guests. Every bit of land was taken, every empty b
ed was filled twofold, and the lofts of all the barns were packed high with bodies.
Woolbury’s alder trees were bursting with cheery faces. Children took watch to find any signs of a magician hidden amongst the crowd. It could barely seem feasible to the eyes of a child that not one of these strangers possessed some extraordinary power like the bedtime stories their parents read to them. The slightest chance of a rabbit pulled from an empty hat or a card trick filled their souls with delight.
Abbott was nestled back at his snug cottage by the quaint stone fireplace with an old book when he first awoke to the commotion of the traveling circus. His pensive literary thought interrupted. His father stood at the door speaking with a band of knockers. Abbott rounded the corner to see who was there. There were four people. Each one of their faces was painted to resemble the hues of the constellation. They had a small hog leashed that sat like a dog by their side. It oinked between speakers in agreement or protest.
“… But we have no room to accommodate the lot of you,” his father said politely, smoothing the upright grey hair on top of his head. He was in a loose bedgown with ruby red slippers.
“There visn’t anyvhere for us to stay and it’s due for rain this nigh’. We shall pay you vell for your hospitality,” said the presumed father of the family. He was dressed in a burgundy coat with a thick striped scarf tucked underneath his lengthy neck. Circling him was a short rounded mother and two children no older than nine. “Our cart lost a vheel and ve had to leave it vehind in order to make it on time for the festival.”
“I'm sorry but is not my problem. You’ll have to ask elsewhere. We simply don’t have space here to accommodate you all.” Edmund’s tone was stern. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll––”
“Sir, please ve haven’t anyvhere else,” begged one of the children. His clothes were a size too big and fell over him like a sack of potatoes. “Please mister, ve’ll be quiet. No bouncing on the bed or late night stories if you ask us so. No squabbles and no unneeded giggling. Dotty can sleep outside if you so wish."
The hog oinked in an unfavored response and the child’s father patted him on his back for the attempt.
“Will ve have to sleep under the rain daddy?” the second son asked.
“Just this nigh’, but at least ve’ll be together as a family.”
Edmund’s eyes rolled under the dark bags in his sockets. “First door on the right. It’ll be tight, but you can have my son’s room. There’s only one bed, but it will serve you better than the damp and wet sky. That… thing can sleep on the floor in your room. Can’t say it will favor any better outside. There are wolves that roam the woods at night.”
“Cheers! Oh, cheers!” the father with the striped scarf sounded. He pushed a leather pouch full of weighty items into Edmund’s frail hands and embraced him without warning.
It may have all they’d saved to come here and feeling how heavy the contents were, Edmund handed the pouch back and told him there was no need for payment.
“Ouch!”
The father squeezed him harder a second time.
“Thank you, mister, thank you so much.”
“You’re really…welcome,” Edmund said as he tried to regain air in his lungs.
“Are you all right?” Abbott said taking his father by his arm. “Great to meet you all.”
“Very, very nice to meet you,” the man said. “Cheers!” And the whole lot smiled kindly and disappeared behind Abbott’s bedroom door without another word. The children indeed began a game of squabbles, an imaginary game involving dice, and their hog, Dotty, who oinked as she plopped her fat bottom on the wood floor.
Abbott escorted his father back to his bed and changed the bandages around his stomach.
Edmund never relished the idea of his son being a caregiver. He preached men needed to learn to survive on their own, even under the worst odds. Edmund tried for years to shield his son from his distress, but there came a point in every man’s life when he couldn’t fool the people around him anymore.
This was Abbott’s second year of managing the affairs of the Bradbury household. The whole ordeal made him grow older much quicker than he would have liked. All the other young adults were still enjoying the life of no responsibilities. To them, it seemed odd for Abbott to be in charge of such things, and when asked, Abbott’s face turned bright red. It wasn’t from embarrassment for being his father’s caregiver, but more or less frustration that they wouldn’t consider doing such things for their loved ones.
Whilst the seasons faded away and his father’s strength decayed, the idea that the next season could be his last started to sink in. Not only would he wondered the earth without the love of a mother, but he would have to do so without the moral compass from his father. He had already lost so much in his life, and this seemed to be the worst of it all. There was truly no way to prepare himself. Instead, Abbott spent as much time with him as humanly possible. The notion rubbed Edmund the wrong way from time to time because he thought he was wasting his time sitting by his bedside. There was a whole world outside his door, and his son was missing it.
But the lines on Edmund’s forehead deepened, and the bright smirk faded with it leaving his eyelids dark with misery. When he looked at his father, Abbott was reminded that life was not forever. We live and we die. There is no manner in moping around about the things we cannot prevent, or was there? If there was anything he could do to make his father better, he would have done it— in a heartbeat.
Once his father’s supper was served, lamb and potatoes stew, Abbott cracked the spine of his dusty leather-bound and began to read once again. His father always read this book to him as a boy. Through the Sea and Beyond by M. S. Merrymaker, it was penned. The book itself seemed like a coincidence considering the main character lived in a village very similar to Woolbury. And the main character had never been sailing beyond the reaches of the sea-- an idea that uprooted him fear and endangerment of what the outside world would be and if he could survive it. It was not too far from the existence Abbott was living in. In a way, it made him feel like he was the main character.
The book itself entered his possession after his father traded a sheep for it at the town's market. The whole ordeal started during a festival ten years ago. A heavy accented man read bits and pieces of the passage only to stop at the fancy parts. It was so intriguing of a tale, Abbott begged his parents night and day to buy the book, or so his father recalls. Abbott remembers solely his mother buying it for him as a reward for helping her repair the broken wings of a bird. Nevertheless, he prayed each night for the book to land in his possession as all young boys do when they first learn the power of prayer. But prayers or not, his parents barely had two sixpences to rub together, so a sheep was sacrificed to gain the book.
When Edmund presented a copy of the book from under his coat the following morning, Abbott felt his smile turned to stone. He read the book many times, and it brought the Bradbury's all a great deal of entertainment. But it was years since his father did any reading with him and his mother passed just years after the book’s purchase. It became somewhat a permanent item of comfort. It was there that he retreated when the troubles in life were too overwhelming to manage.
“Son, why don’t you join the rest of the village?” his father yawned. “It’s painful watching you in here with me all the time.”
“I’ve been a thousand times before,” Abbott said with his nose fixed inside the book. “I would much prefer to keep you company.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” his father snorted. “Besides, the girl you like, Violet. It would be a fine night to spend it with her and confess what you’ve told me so many times before.”
“That’s between us!” Abbott said, setting the book down on his lap. “I am perfectly alright with staying here and reading. I'm getting to the good part.”
“I’m requesting you go. Not suggesting. I won’t have you here watching me and wasting your life away when you should be out there living it. Now
is your time to talk to Violet before one of the other men ends up marrying her.”
“Father––”
“Make me proud, son,” he insisted with eyes of encouragement. “There is plenty to marvel out there—Violet or maybe even a new book for you to barter for. You’ll thank me later. Then you can tell me all about it. I’ll be looking forward to the conversation.”
Abbott caught a wink from his father and did as he was told. He placed his book upon the seat of the armchair and left to join the party, but as he departed, he could not help but feel a rush of guilt run over him. The idea of his father being alone did not comfort his thoughts, but obeying his commands was just as significant.
3
The Menagerie Estate was a prison to Billy.
Tall stone walls kept out the warmth of the sunlight, and the grounds were overrun with chores to keep him occupied. He scrubbed the floors for hours each day and tended to Ms. Menageries every wish and command. He was a servant. But there was no other choice than to call this place home, and he had for the last nine years whether he liked it or not. He stole any chance of freedom to wander the town freely. It only made him loath the estate more intensely. But he detested much more the fact that he was an orphan.
At the age of five, his parents abandoned him at the Borough Market. Billy went to buy a sack of apples. But after hours had passed and no sign of them, a Bobbie escorted him crying in the rain to an orphanage for lost and unwanted children. From that point forward, he’d shifted through houses like hotcakes. He never lost hope his parents would find him again, but the seasons came and went.
Heartbroken, Billy quit waiting for what was never to happen, and days later, there was a knock from the orphanage door, and in strolled Ms. Menagerie. She was a plump, relentless old hen then and still was even after nine years. She wore box-like antique wool skirts and bobbed around like an open umbrella, barking orders at him. Her horse voice made his skin crawl every time he heard it. It wasn’t long before he knew the arrangement was not entirely in his favor. He soon discovered that Ms. Menagerie gathered a disgusting pleasure in watching him labor about the estate while she knitted in her overly large armchair accompanied by fine china. There was no greater feeling in his mind than leaving this estate permanently and escaping the foul clutches of Ms. Menagerie.
The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar Page 2