A Girl Called Foote, Page 3

  ~ Jonathan

  With careful hands, Jonathan put the figurines back into the red box. One by one, he placed each soldier and horse standing in its designated spot, and, just as he had seen Will do, wove the woolen strips through the ranks to keep them upright. After a final lingering look, he fitted the lid on top and took the box to his closet where he pushed it to the back of the top shelf. Pulling a number of items in front of it, he surveyed his work.

  Safe, he decided, then sighed while turning away.

  Hmmm…What to do?

  He made his way to the window and leaned on the sill. It was a beautiful early-winter’s day with brilliant sunlight shining down through fluffy white clouds from the crystalline-blue sky. He surveyed the sight joylessly. A bird soaring through the sky caught his eye. He squinted at it.

  Is that a falcon? I wonder if Hodges got that new spyglass he wanted for Christmas. What did he call it? A pair of…binoculars? Well, I suppose he’ll bring them back to Heath if he did. One more week…

  Ha! Am I longing to return to school? He laughed at himself, but it felt hollow in his chest.

  Suddenly the bird, barely visible in the distance, alighted on a crooked tree top. Jonathan recognized the tree at once.

  I can see that from here?

  He grabbed the chair from his desk and dragged it across the floor, the chair legs drawing dark stripes in the thick carpet. Positioning it by the window, Jonathan climbed atop the chair and stood, gazing out.

  It is the crooked one on the lakeside, and…

  Jonathan rocked back and forth on the chair seat, craning his neck and feeling nauseated. Most of what he was looking for was obscured by smaller trees and part of a hillock, but there was a green sliver of the lush pit. Though the lake had been drained, it was still a naturally wet area which plants had overtaken, burgeoning, filling in the space once occupied by several feet of water.

  He steadied himself.

  I can’t…I won’t stay here.

  Another room. Yes...I’ll…

  Jumping down from his perch, Jonathan nearly went to his closet to retrieve the box he had just placed there.

  Don’t be stupid. He shook his head. Pick the room first and then move everything.

  Going out into the hallway, he headed toward where the guest rooms were.

  Jonathan wandered past Sophia’s open door which revealed her absence.

  Where is everyone?

  Since his return home for the holiday, the house had felt half-full to Jonathan. Of course there was no loud clattering of Will running up and down the stairs, and the door to the study was closed every day now instead of just when Father was within, wanting solitude. But even Pryor was gone. No longer did the somber looking butler constantly tread the hallways, headed who-knew-where at any moment, his lanky frame silently padding along the thick carpet.

  Six months, it’s been…

  He stopped himself.

  Think of other things.

  Here. This room.

  He stopped and opened the door before him. Gloomy from the heavy drapes drawn closed over the window, the room held a large bed and a few pieces of furniture, ornately carved and marble topped.

  Going to the window, he pulled back the drapes, unleashing a huge cloud of dust that hung in the sunbeam like a swirling swarm of gnats. Looking out, he saw the stable and its yard. Beyond that was the kitchen garden. There was no sight of anything having to do with the lake.

  Yes, this will do.

  He returned to the hallway, thinking to begin the moving process immediately.

  A noise from one room away arrested him. It sounded like a whimpering puppy on the other side of the nursery door.

  Is the baby back? he wondered.

  Months earlier, he and Sophia had watched from her bedroom window as a big fluffy bundle of blankets was carried out to the driveway. An unfamiliar woman had been holding it, glancing down at a barely visible pink slip of a face in its folds, then up at the front of Whitehall. She had craned her neck, her mouth agape in apparent awe as she surveyed the building. Her eyes had flitted past the window through which Jonathan and Sophia watched the scene. A tiny pink fist popped out of the blanket and waved around in the air, bringing the woman’s eyes back to what she held.

  “What’s she doing with the baby?” Startled, Jonathan had readied himself to rush down and wrestle the infant out of the woman’s arms.

  “Don’t bother yourself,” Sophia had said, calmly. “He’ll be back. Glory said that he’d be going to live with a family in the village, a family whose mother had plenty to share with a late baronet’s baby.”

  “Plenty of what?” Jonathan had asked, turning to his sister, befuddled.

  “I asked that, too. Glory wouldn’t answer, but she said he’d come back when he was older.”

  Jonathan recalled how his heart had sped up as the carriage took off down the drive, steadying himself only because Sophia seemed alright with the idea.

  And now he is here.

  Unhesitatingly, Jonathan opened the door and stepped into the room.

  At a table, Sophia and Miss Gloriana sat, both staring at an open book before them. Sophia’s face looked hopeful as she turned and saw her brother. Miss Gloriana’s looked wary.

  “Is there something you…?” the woman began in her unpleasantly high-pitched voice.

  Jonathan looked around the large room, memories flooding his mind. Beneath his feet lay the green carpet that padded his earliest memories. The tan swirls on it stretched for what had seemed like miles when he followed them around the room, endeavoring to stay on, not touching his bare feet to any of the encroaching green. The furniture was all in exactly the same spots, but the swirls looked much smaller now.

  Looking toward the table at which the two females sat, Jonathan remembered how he used to curl up underneath it, hiding from Will, though that was always the first place Will looked for him.

  “Did you need…?” Miss Gloriana started again, her face taking on a hint of annoyance.

  The baby gurgled in his crib, then squawked.

  Miss Gloriana sighed and began to rise from her chair, mumbling, “And now I must play nurse maid as well.”

  But Jonathan was quicker and went to peek over the edge of the crib.

  A small, dark-haired infant lay on his back, all four limbs up in the air, quivering. The little head tossed back and forth, its mouth working itself open and closed in a growing frustration, sloppily expressed. Locking eyes on Jonathan, the baby awkwardly flipped himself over. Tiny, dimpled hands grabbed the folds of the bedclothes and pulled, dragging the rounded body over to where Jonathan stood. The head, so large proportionally to all else, wobbled atop the straining neck as the baby lifted it to look into Jonathan’s face. The pudgy arms, pushing at the mattress, trembled with effort.

  Jonathan felt himself smiling, delighted at the determination of his clumsy little sibling.

  “Sophia, come look!” he called as he reached out to pat the little downy head. “His name is Elliott, isn’t it? He’s trying to…aw, look…”

  The weight of the head proved too much and the baby tipped over onto his back, looking startled, his arms flailing out on impact.

  “Are you alright?” Jonathan chuckled, reaching his hand out to steady those of his brother.

  The wet, pink mouth opened in a wide grin as the baby’s hands gripped one of Jonathan’s fingers tightly.

  Suddenly, Sophia was there, her head pressed up against Jonathan’s as they hovered above their new sibling.

  “Aw, dear little Elly,” she said, warmth in her voice.

  “Miss Sophia,” Miss Gloriana squeaked, tapping the book before her. “You mustn’t neglect your German.”

  “I told you he’d be back, Jonathan,” Sophia said over her shoulder as she headed back to the table.

  The baby was now pulling Jonathan’s hand toward his gaping mouth, panting slightly.

  Oh no you don’t, thought Jonathan. He smiled again
, feeling more pleased than he had in a very long time.

  A new brother. And I shall be right next door.

 

  The Breaking of a Leg

  ~ Lydia, age 12

  Devlin House

  Most of the fourteen or so children at the table were staring at the trifle and nougat almond cake on the side bar, fidgeting excitedly. Though Lydia had determined that she would have as many currant dotted queen cakes as were offered to her, her own eyes were fixed on the bookshelf beyond the dessert display. She had specifically chosen a spot at the table that faced the shelf, hoping it was close enough to allow her to make out the titles on the bindings. So far she had had no luck and was beginning to wonder if it would be rude of her to wander over, after the meal, and examine them up close.

  Mrs. Devlin’s fluty voice cut through Lydia’s wonderings. “Attention please, boys and girls!

  “Thank you all for coming.” Her eyes were bright, and her hands were clasped together over her bodice as she continued, “I was hoping the Gummit children would be here as well, but I don’t want to serve you cold soup, so we will begin. I’m so glad you’ve all come to celebrate Daffodil Day in my home once again. Let us pray.”

  The children all assumed a very serious manner, sitting straight up in their chairs, folding their hands before tightly shutting their eyes.

  “Dear Heavenly Father,” Mrs. Devlin began. “We are so grateful to have all made it through the winter, and that we are able to be here today to celebrate the coming of spring together. Thank You for this food and the lives of these dear children. In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ…”

  Every voice in the room joined her in loudly stating a solemn, “Amen.”

  Mrs. Devlin’s eyes shone as she looked around the room again and announced, “You may begin with the bread as I come around to fill your bowls.”

  The gentle murmurs of the children died down as they lifted thick slices of bread from the platters.

  Outside, Pert, who had followed Lydia and Jack to Devlin House, barked. Other than that, Lydia heard only the rhythmic sound of her own chewing and the occasional scrape of a spoon in a bowl nearby until there was a timid knock on the door.

  “Oh! Perhaps that is the Gummits, come at last,” said Mrs. Devlin to no one in particular, moving hastily toward the door. “Do come in!”

  Two raggedly dressed children stepped through the doorway to stand on the maroon carpet, nervously looking around. The eldest, a boy, cleared his throat and nudged the youngest, a girl.

  Stepping forward, the girl announced in a tremulous voice, “Miz Devlin, we truly thank you for ‘viting us to your home for Daffadilly Day. Mumma says thank you also for the two chickens you give us last Christmas when the new baby come.” She stopped, her mouth a tight little line as her wide eyes took in the sights on the table.

  “Oh, of course, of course.” Mrs. Devlin smiled and nodded. “Please, children, do sit and eat your fill.”

  Two of the only empty seats left were next to Lydia. The littlest Gummit sat in one, whispering to her elder brother, “Did I say it a’right, Bill?”

  He jerked his head in a solemn nod as a thick slab of bread was placed on the plate before him.

  Lydia couldn’t help but smile at the intent concern on the little girl’s face and the obvious relief once her brother confirmed her success. It disappeared quickly, though, once the girl’s bowl was filled with soup.

  Clenching the spoon in her fist, the girl pulled the bowl toward herself. So focused was she on her soup and bread that it seemed everything else around her had vanished. The little girl no longer looked apprehensive as large orange chunks of carrot and tender cubes of beef disappeared into her mouth, followed by big bites of crusty new bread. Faint sounds of contentment escaped her as she chewed.

  The girl’s inability to disguise or temper her obvious enjoyment threatened to make Lydia laugh, but she bit her lip before spooning some broth into her own mouth. The food was very good, fresh and well prepared.

  Still smiling, Lydia glanced again at the little girl, but her eye was caught instead by the elder Gummit two seats away. Glowering at Lydia, he hissed at his sister, “Slow down, Bess. Yer makin’ a sight o’ yerself.”

  Bill then straightened in his chair and dabbed the corners of his sullen mouth with a linen before continuing his meal, his eyes resting heavily on the table.

  Her eating never ceased, though Bess’ eyes widened and she peered around, clearly embarrassed.

  Lydia shifted uneasily in her seat, her cheeks burning.

  I didn’t mean to gawk at her and shame them. She just looks so pleased with her meal. It’s quite endearing.

  Should I apologize? No, that would probably make them more uncomfortable.

  Lydia stole a glance at Bill, and presumed he was about her own age. He needn’t be ashamed of his sister enjoying a bowl of soup! Ah, well, pride I suppose…

  Returning her gaze to the bookshelf across the room, Lydia took another bite of bread. Do I dare ask if I could borrow some of those? I could tell Mrs. Devlin that I’ve been borrowing books from Mr. Farington for years and have always returned them in perfect condition.

  Suddenly, the woman herself was beside Lydia, smiling.

  Should I ask her now? Lydia’s heart sped up.

  With her hand on little Bess’ shoulder, Mrs. Devlin leaned in and asked softly, “Are you enjoying yourself, dear?”

  The little girl turned her face shyly to the woman, but kept her eyes averted. Lydia could see that there was a crumb of bread stuck to her lip. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said quietly. “Thank you so much for ‘viting us.”

  “Of course, darling. You shall be invited every year.”

  The woman placed a hand on Lydia’s shoulder, and in the same gentle tone asked, “And you, dear child, are you enjoying yourself? Would you like some more soup before dessert is served?”

  “Uhh…no thank you, Mrs. Devlin.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked, her eyes widening. “There’s plenty.”

  Why would she suppose I want a second bowl of soup?

  “N-no…though it is very good, I’ve had quite enough.”

  The woman gazed kindly at her for a moment longer before squeezing Lydia’s shoulder and walking away.

  That was odd.

  Now Mrs. Devlin was hovering above Bill, offering him more food in the same manner, though now it appeared to Lydia to be more charitable than simply courteous. The word ‘condescending’ slipped into Lydia’s mind, though she felt guilty at its appearance.

  She’s a very kind woman who likes children, Lydia reminded herself crossly as she pushed away her bowl, deciding not to ask about the books.

  ***

  “Jack, what do you suppose Mrs. Devlin thinks of us?” Lydia asked on their walk home. The spring sun was warm through the newly-leafy overhang of the tree-lined road.

  “Well enough to feed us treacle tart and trifle. That’s all that concerns me,” Jack responded, throwing a stick for Pert to fetch.

  It’s always about your stomach! Lydia thought irritably. “Yes, but why do you suppose she invites us every year to her house for Daffodil Day? I’ve never read of anyone else ever celebrating it. I think she may have invented it just to feed the poor children of Shinford.”

  “So what if she did?” Jack shrugged, then stopped and pointed up into the dark leafy heights of a tree above them. “What’s that?”

  Lydia halted and looked, though she wasn’t thinking about his question.

  But why does she invite us? Does she think we’re poor? I suppose we are compared to her, but we’re not truly poor. We’re not the Gummits!

  And I highly doubt Mrs. Devlin even reads those books in her parlor. She probably inherited them and didn’t have anything else to put up on those shelves so there they stayed.

  Jack kicked off his shoes. “Well, there’s one way to find out.”

  “What?” Lydia asked.

  “To find out wh
at that is up there.”

  “What’s up there?” Lydia asked, looking again. “I don’t see anything.”

  Gripping the tree with his hands and feet, Jack scrambled up the trunk, stretching his lanky body to reach the overhead branches. Higher and higher he climbed as Pert pawed at the tree from below, barking in agitation.

  “Oh Jack!” called Lydia. “It’s too high.”

  He did not pause until he reached a limb twenty feet above and began to edge himself out on it, away from the trunk’s solidity.

  “Careful!” cried Lydia.

  Many variations of this scenario had played themselves out over the years between the two siblings: Jack attempting some physical feat while Lydia called out, “Careful!” from below, behind or even above, but each time the situation had ended well with Jack smiling proudly and Lydia wishing that the rapid beating of her heart would ease.

  This time was different.

  Lydia watched in horror as her agile brother misjudged a step and slipped. Grasping wildly at twigs and leaves, he fell. His arms flailed furiously as his thin body plummeted through the air and branches toward the unforgiving ground.

  As Lydia screamed, she watched Jack hit, nearly upright as if he hoped to walk out of the fall. There was a nauseating crack and Jack’s limbs crumpled into his body as he lay still upon the ground.

  There instantly, Lydia knelt in the dirt, begging him to talk, to breathe. Pert circled around, barking and whining. Jack’s open eyes fluttered as he dazedly stared up into the branches.

  “I…I couldn’t see what it was,” he said in a voice very unlike his own as he attempted to sit up. “I…I…ahhh!”

  He arched his back and fell backward.

  “Jack…Jack,” Lydia breathed, running her hands over her writhing brother’s shoulders.

  He emitted a low moan, his face ashen.

  “I’ll get Father!” Lydia promised as she tore off in the direction of Hillcrest, Pert at her heels.

  Getting Lost

  ~ Jonathan, age 16

  Heath School

  “Clyde, you’ve got a letter and it looks like it’s from your mumsy.” Widcombe waved an envelope in front of Jonathan’s face.

  What? A letter from the Lady? In all my years at Heath, that has never happened. Jonathan grabbed it from his friend. Sure enough, across the front of the envelope, his mother’s hand had addressed it to him. Tearing through the thin paper, he pulled out a flimsy sheet and read: