Little Willie's Revenge

by Dan Absalonson

  #

  He spent the afternoon scattering the dolly's various body parts in their corresponding places to the map and then washed up before lunch. While eating across from his sister, he thought she seemed a little downcast. There wasn't that readiness to greet everyone, or the constant talking about what she had done all morning. She just sat there and ate her lunch. This was too good; he knew he had gotten to her now. He wolfed down the rest of his meal and excused himself early.

  He walked away from the dining room and ducked out of the nearest door. Then he made his way to the back of the house and entered into the kitchens. He snuck a large knife and ran back out the way he had come. He made his way back inside near his bedroom and bolted down the hallway. He grabbed the map from under his pillow and trotted off to his sister's room; hiding the knife under his shirt in his belt. In her room he tacked the map up against her headboard and stepped back to admire his work. It was no pirate knife, but not bad; not bad at all. He stared at it for one more moment and then made his way back to his bedroom undetected. There he changed into dark green clothes and then made his way outside. He hid behind a tree, waiting for her to start her search.

  She came to the first spot on the map and began to sob softly. She had to know it was him who did this. She started to dig, and before long pulled the dirty limbless form from the ground. To his surprise she did not start for the next spot on the map but went back to the house. Was she going to tell on him? This would ruin all of his fun! He walked around the house to her bedroom window to peak inside. He was astonished to see her pulling thread and a needle from a drawer in her night stand, and then leaving her room in the direction of the front door. She came out with tears still fresh on her pale cheeks. She wiped them with her sleeve and then looked back down at the map. She changed directions and followed the lines to the garden. He watched her uncover the left leg. She brushed it off and began to sow it back onto the body. As her fingers worked the needle new tears made small streams down her face and onto the dolly. This was the best idea Willie had ever come up with! He cherished every tear. If only he had a bottle to catch each one and then place it in his window sill as a trophy to remind him of this moment. He watched as she walked to each place on the map and put her dolly back together one limb at a time. Finally she made her way back to the apple trees in the back yard.

  The place had no grass, and it was easy to tell someone had buried something there recently. Using her little hands she began to pull away the loose dirt until she could see some of her Petunia's hair. She pulled the head up out of the ground and held it in front of her for a moment. Then she broke down. She began shuddering into the spun yarn hair, cleaning it with her tears. She pulled it back from her face and wiped it down until it looked evenly dirtied instead of blotchy. Through a stammering cry she uttered,

  "I will just have to clean you."

  Her cry became audible, but Willie knew no one would be able to hear her from inside the house. He just tried to keep his own voice down as small laughs escaped his cracked smile. She began to work the final piece to the place it belonged and before long the dolly was whole again. Missing some of her stuffing, and bearing the crude mark's of a child's sowing, but whole none the less. She held it against her chest and cried for a little while longer, and then got up slowly and walked back towards the house. On her way, without changing her gaze once, she spoke.

  "I forgive you little brother, wherever you are. Probably listening to me right now. Just know that I forgive you."

  What was this? How could she have possibly ruined this, it was perfect! But she had. With those three little words, I forgive you. Now he knew she was crazy. She loved that stupid little dolly, how could this have happened? Willie didn't understand. He couldn't hold his anger in, so he ran out to her and pushed her down again. She didn't cry like the last time, and he didn't look back to see how she had fallen. He just ran for his room, cursing himself for the tears that streamed from his eyes. He wanted his mom, but he wasn't going to tell anyone else that. That would make him weak, and he was strong. He burst into his room and crashed onto his bed. His father came in a little while after.

  "I can't believe you son, what has she ever done to you?"

  Willie didn't respond, he just kept his head down in his pillow.

  "I know now that simple punishment isn't going to work with you son. Instead, you need to come up with some way to show her you’re sorry."

  Little Willie looked up from his pillow with a look of horror on his face.

  "That's right, I said show her that you're sorry. Until then you can sit in the wagon next to me out in the fields while I work. You will not push your sister down again. Now get dressed for the field, you're coming to work with me."

  She hadn't told them what he had done to her dolly? Just that he had pushed her again? That was it. She was crazy. He would have to do something even more drastic. For now, there was nothing he could do but change his clothes and follow his dad out to the hallway. On their way to the front door they passed the guest room. The door stood open and inside he saw workers taking Paris Green, a bright green powder, and mixing it to make the color for the new wall paper they were putting up. Willie had a new idea; one that would top them all. He stopped walking and looked up to his dad.

  "Father?"

  "Yes son?"

  "I don't have to go out into the fields with you. I thought of a way to show that I'm sorry."

  "Go on, I'm listening son."

  "Well, I know that Rosella's favorite supper is tomato soup."

  "Yes, that's true, what about it?"

  "I thought that maybe I could go into the kitchens and learn how to make some for her. Tonight at dinner I'll bring it out to her and apologize as I serve it to her."

  "Wow son, I must say I'm impressed. I wasn't sure you could think of anything that kind for her. That sounds like a good plan, let's go to the kitchens.”

  They turned around and Willie's father set the cook in charge of his son to watch over him and teach him how to make tomato soup for his sister. Neither of them heard Willie mutter "step sister" when his father referred to her that way. Satisfied, the dad left Willie and the cook to their work and returned to his. As Little Willie learned how to make her favorite meal, he acted like a well behaved little boy. The cook kept raising an eyebrow to him.

  "Are you feeling alright boy? You're not yourself; acting all nice and such."

  "I'm fine. I just want to make my sister some soup to show her I'm sorry. Can you make this soup with green tomatoes?"

  "I don't see why not. I usually make it with red ones, but it still tastes great when you use green. I make it for myself when we have extra all the time, but the little misses likes her tomato soup red."

  "I know, but I'm making it for her and I want to do something special."

  "All right then, we'll use green tomatoes to make your soup."

  With the cooks guidance Little Willie made some green tomato soup that didn't smell half bad. Once done they left it to stay warm on the stove until dinner time.

  "I'm going to go wash up, thank you for your help," Willie said to the cook.

  He raced off to his room and found a small pouch he used to store marbles. He dumped the marbles onto the ground and ran back to the guest room. The workers had gone home for the day, so he crept inside. Scooping up a large handful of Paris Green into the bag he turned to go back towards the kitchens. When he got there, the cook had stepped out. Willie took action. He walked up to the pot of soup he made and dumped the pouch into it. Then he stuffed the pouch into his pants and began stirring in the Paris Green. Just as he placed the ladle into the pot to stir, the cook came back in.

  "What are you doing there Willie boy?"

  "I just wanted to smell it again, I can't believe I made this soup. I figured I would stir it around just to make sure it's all mixed in really well."

  "It's a fine thing what you're doing for your sister, but that soup is do
ne and will be ready for serving once suppertime comes around, and that won't be long. If you'd like to keep stirring it until then that's fine by me, I've got some other things to attend to."

  Willie did keep stirring the soup until it was almost supper time. He wanted to make sure it was mixed in really well, even though he had only made enough soup for his sister. The cook came back in and said,

  "You'd better go and get washed up before the meal is served boy."

  "Alright, but I want to bring it out to her."

  "That'll be fine. Off you go now."

  He fanned his hands towards Willie, palms in, shoeing him away. Willie sped off to his room, excited to see the sour look on his sister's face when she ate the soup. Even better than that would be how sick she would become after eating it. Changing his shirt and pushing away his ragged bangs from his eyes he found himself fit enough for supper. He had to try hard not to run all the way back to the kitchens. As he passed the dinning room his father called to him.

  "Willie boy, it is time for supper now. Please come and sit down."

  Willie stopped and turned to his Father with the nicest smile he could muster.

  "I wanted to bring out my special present for my sister."

  The dad raised an eyebrow and said,

  "Oh yes, of course. Alright then son, run along. We're hungry."

  Willie ran back to the kitchens and watched the cook pour his soup into a bowl.

  "This soup smells a bit off, but I'm sure it will be good, I watched you make it after all. Well, here you go young man, your sister’s soup. I'm sure she'll enjoy it."

  Willie took the soup and turned to go.

  "Ah ah ah, not until I serve everyone else except your sister. Then I'll come back and you'll bring it out to her last."

  "Oh, OK. Good idea," Willie said; but he didn't think it was a good idea. He hated waiting even one more minute. He set the bowl on the counter and began tapping his foot. The cook made two trips, and then came back in.

  "Alright Willie, I told her a special supper had been prepared for her. Go on now; it's time I got something to eat around here."

  The cook held the kitchen door open for him, and Willie grabbed the bowl and walked through. He wanted to run, but he didn't dare spill a drop of the soup. He brought it into the dining room and set it down right in front of his sister. Her polite smile made him want to crack the bowl over her head and watch the hot slimy green run down her hair like a rotten egg. After all that he had done to her today, and she could still smile at him. He turned to have a seat after carefully putting the bowl down when his Father vociferously cleared his throat.

  "Oh yeah," Willie said.

  He looked at his sister. It was all he could to not to look away from her bright little face.

  "I know I've been pushing you and being mean to you a lot lately, so I asked the cook to help me make you some tomato soup."

  "Thank you William."

  Willie ground his teeth at that name but remained cool on the outside.

  "I do have one question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why is the soup green?"

  "We used green tomatoes," he feigned to be hurt by her remark, "I wanted it to be special. Cook Almade says he makes it all the time and it's real good. We just used green tomatoes instead of red ones."

  "Oh, how sweet. Thank you William."

  He smiled, a gesture which almost looked painful, and then walked to his chair. With everyone seated they began their meal. He watched her with keen eyes, not even picking up a fork to poke at his own food. He could tell it tasted vile, but the brat was trying to pull off that it was good.

  "Well, how is your soup my daughter?"

  "It doesn't taste like red tomato soup, but it is good."

  She sipped at it some more, constantly washing the taste away with water. She was going to ruin it again. Willie had wanted her to spit it out on her pretty little dress and scream how awful it tasted. He wanted her to get sick as well, but other than having a defiled tongue, she seemed fine. And then she dropped her soup spoon.

  It hit the porcelain bowl with a loud clatter.

  "Dear! Mind your manners," her mother said.

  But then Rosella slumped over, falling to the ground. She began clutching her throat and thrashing around. Willie stood on the table and walked over to get a better view. He began laughing uncontrollably.

  "What have you done to her?" His father screamed.

  "You little monster! I told you he was going to really hurt her one of these days William!"

  Willie just laughed as if he didn't hear them. The cook rushed in,

  "what has happened?"

  “There was something in that soup," William said, "what can we do?"

  The cook ran to the kitchen and came back with a small bag of salt and a large bowl.

  "Sit her up!" he instructed them, "and put this under her to expel into."

  He refilled her cup with water and then poured the whole bag of salt into it. He held it to her lips. It spilled onto her dress from the shaking she could not control.

  "You must drink this my girl!"

  He pressed it to her lips more and she drank. Then he pulled the cup away. She began vomiting violently into the large mixing bowl in her lap. Willie's laughing had become so loud that the others had to shout over to her to share soothing words as she threw up. Willie's father got up and ran to him. He grabbed his feet and pulled them out from under him, and Willie came down hard into a sitting position on the table. His laughing stopped and he looked at his father for the first time since he had left to get the soup.

  "Ouch, that hurt. What did you do that..."

  He words came to a sudden halt with one look into his father's eyes. William's mouth had only three words for him,

  "Pick a switch."

  Willie hadn't seen that look since before his mother had died. He knew well enough not to argue, but to just get up and go pick a switch. He still was able to smile through his fear, once his back was to his father, as he heard the sounds of his step sister crying and vomiting while he left. He did, however, know better than to run away or pick a small switch. If he did the first, he would be in for more than he could have imagined. If he did the ladder his dad would just go make him get a bigger switch, and add on to the strikes against him. He went out to the willow tree and pulled down a large branch, then walked back to the house with his head to the ground and his mouth no longer laughing.

  When he returned to the dining room, his father was the only one waiting for him. He picked up a jack knife from the table and handed it to Willie.

  "What was in that soup William?"

  "Paris Green, from the guest room."

  "Don't you know that's poisonous?"

  Willie didn't say anything, keeping his eyes away from his father.

  "Go out back and cut of the twigs and leaves so it'll swing good, and bring it back to me.”

  Willie remained silent. Warm tears began to form in his eyes.

  "If those tears were for your sister, and what you've done - that would be one thing. I'd still switch you, but I know those tears are for yourself. How did I raise such a boy?"

  Willie's voice, soft and wavering, came out low,

  "I miss Mother."

  "Don't you bring her into this boy. I'm sure that line has worked on me in the past, but now you've done it. You're going to boarding school as soon as your sister is better and you've apologized. Maybe they'll know what to do with you, because I sure don't. Now go, and don't take your time. I know you've have lots of practice at making switches even though it's been a while.”

  #

  Willie couldn't sit for a whole week, which was about the same amount of time it took for his sister to start feeling better. One day his step mother came into the back room where Willie had been forced to eat alone.

  "She wants to see you, bless her soul. I can barely look at you, but she wants to talk to you." r />
  With that she left and slammed the door behind her. He just kept eating. Then the door flew open and she poked her head inside again.

  "Don't you worry about finishing that meal. You go and see her right now! She’s feeling better, but she'll need to rest again soon."

  Willie shot up and walked past her like a cork from a bottle. He continued his stride down the hall until he was in his sister's room at the foot of her bed. He looked at her. Her pale white skin had become even brighter, if possible, like there had been a dozen candles in that soup and they still burned brightly from within. She began to speak to him, her voice like a beaten whimpering dog.

  "I know I'm not going to get an apology from you; at least not any time soon. I don't know why you hate me so much, but I wanted to tell you that I forgive you. I'm not going to play with you anymore, and I don't want you to be around me until you get better some day; but I forgive you."

  Willie's face grew bright red and he stifled a cry building up in his chest. It was no cry of pity or remorse. It was a cry of madness; of anger.

  "No, you can't! You can't forgive me! You must hate me for all of the things I have done to you! How can you forgive me? Don't say it again, I won't believe you! I can't believe you."

  Willie stormed out of the room.

  #

  While Willie was at boarding school, the first person to write him was his step sister. In her letter she wrote:

  "You never gave me a chance to answer a question you asked of me while screaming in my bedroom that day before you left. You asked, how can I forgive you? The only way I know how is by the strength of one stronger than me. It is from his words that I learned to forgive. If you have not already torn up this letter and thrown it into the fire, then would you do me just one favor? Please look up the book of Matthew, chapter 18, verses twenty one and twenty two; and then Philippians chapter four verse 13. Read them in that order. Love, your sister."

  Willie, who had been craving interaction with any human other than his fierce instructors and bullying classmates, did read the letter. He also found his bible, which his father had packed in his things as he was leaving. He read the verses. He still couldn't believe how his sister could have forgiven him. Little did he know that when he could finally get back home to see her, he would thank her for helping him get over the loss of his mother.

  THE END

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