Little Girl Lost, Page 2
Tristan J. Tarwater
large nose, smelling the precious pieces of metal and running her fingers over them to be sure they were free of grease. The cleaner the pieces, the less likely her fresh sausages were to turn. If the metal parts were not cleaned to her specifications, Tavera received a beating with the cane. After the beating was over, she was commanded to clean the parts again and go to bed. After a few weeks of this, Tavera learned how clean the machines had to be in order to make it to bed free of welts.
There were times when Tavera had to remind Madame Greswin who she was. The old woman would squint at her from time to time and call her by different names, Kera or Gema. Madame Greswin would complain about her joints and claimed she knew when it would snow by how they ached. Tavera wanted to say it sounded like nonsense to her. But no amount of complaints about pain ever stayed the old woman's hand with the cane so Tavera held her tongue and her wonder when the cold snows came.
The winter was harsh and the snow piled up to where the crone thought it unsafe to send Tavera out of doors to shovel. They spent more time around one another, the beady eyes of Auntie more likely to find fault with Tavera's doings the more time she spent indoors. After a particularly snowy set of days, Tavera wished she had never been taken in by the old crone. Everything she had done those few days had been wrong and with the snow piled high, she couldn't escape the old, shuffling woman and the long, wooden cane she wielded with such skill.
When the woman drank, it could go well or poorly. Sometimes she sipped something Tavera wasn't familiar with after going to temple. The alcohol dulled the old woman's senses so she slept deeply enough to allow Tavera to poke around. One late afternoon as the woman lay asleep in her bed, Tavera summoned the nerve to creep upstairs and into the small, sparsely furnished room serving as the woman's quarters. Further inspection revealed a crawlspace within the wall. The little girl was able to hold in her curiosity and bide her time till the next time the woman was out of the house, being sure to get all of her chores done before she clipped upstairs to the room.
In the crawlspace were several trunks marked with words she hadn't the education to decipher. Inside were old but well-done drawings of a woman and a man, the man obviously older than the girl with the solemn face who stood by him. There were a few beautiful quilts and two old-fashioned dresses. Best of all though were the half-dozen hair ribbons, some of them made from some kind of shiny material. Tavera held her fingers over the ribbons for a few brief seconds before snatching the two she thought were the nicest, quickly putting everything back where it went and running downstairs so she could hide them in her bedding.
After too many phases the snow let up to the point where it actually began to melt a little, the banks growing lower. The sun turned the white mountains into gray ponds and the water pooled wherever it could, filth and dirt lining the bottoms. Auntie Greswin went out of doors more, busying herself with charitable works; whatever it was that kept the old woman engaged. Tavera was glad to have more time to herself and less contact with the wooden cane, occupying her free time with her ribbons.
Sometimes she would tie them around her head and walk around the small house, talking to the inanimate objects as if they were people and she was a genteel woman. Other times she would tie the ribbons into knots so they formed makeshift dolls, always careful to flatten them out as best she could when she was done with them. And still there were days when she would find herself running up the stairs and throwing open one of the trunks, wondering who the people in the pictures were and what the symbols meant.
One day Tavera was doing just that when her ears perked up, hearing something downstairs. Could the woman be home already? Panic squeezed her heart as she quickly put everything away, cursing to herself as she pushed books, knick-knacks, and drawings back where they belonged. Tavera closed the crawlspace door as quietly and quickly as she could before she ran down the stairs, hoping the woman wouldn't beat her too violently for being upstairs. She threw open the door, stopping short as her dark eyes fell upon the scene.
In the back area where the sausages were made stood two men. One of them she recognized as the man who grilled the sausages, his eyes widening in alarm as they fell upon the little girl. Out of the storage area came another man, this one similar in coloring and build to the first but with darker hair. He held a few chains of sausages in his hand, looking to the griller before turning to the little girl, his face calm.
For a brief moment Tavera wondered what they were doing but a sinking dread in the pit of her stomach told her why they were there. Behind them the back door was wide open. She ran toward them, hoping she could get back the things they were intending to steal. “No, don't!” she screamed, the griller already out the door and gone before she made it to the back room.
Just as she reached the work table, the other man tipped the piece of furniture over, the sound of wood splintering and metal clanging ringing in her ears. Tavera just barely jumped out of the way as it came crashing down, shrieking at the sound and her narrow escape. Lying on the floor, she looked up just in time to see the second man run out through the back door. He didn't bother shutting it behind him.
Tavera scrambled up and around the table, running outside just in time to see them bolting down the alley. “Wait!” she shouted, her voice shrill, fear propelling her scream down the snowy street. “Please! Don't! Come back!” The men disappeared behind a building, not bothering to heed the trembling girl's pleas.
Tavera ducked back into the house, slamming the door behind her and trying to lock it, the tears in her eyes making the latch difficult to work. She began sobbing as she realized it was broken, wiping at her streaming eyes with the backs of her dirty hands as she looked over the scene. One of the legs of the table had fallen off, the door to the storeroom wide open. Tavera walked over to close it, drawing her breath in horror as a realization prickled in her brain.
The machine. She had left all the parts out on the table for the woman to inspect—and the man had tipped over the table. If Tavera knew any prayers, she would have recited them as she dropped to her hands and knees, desperately searching for the pieces of metal which belonged to Auntie Greswin's precious machines. Panic-stricken eyes scanned the floor, finding a few but not all. Quickly, she popped up and grabbed the broom, sweeping maniacally in the hopes of knocking one of the missing pieces out of hiding. A few actually did roll out and she spread them all out in front of her, counting the pieces feverishly. Tavera cursed. They weren't all there.
The sound of the front door opening flooded Tavera with fear. She felt as if she would vomit, and it took every shred of her being to keep herself from passing out from fright. Instead she sat there on the floor, frozen.
“Girl?” The shuffling of Madame Greswin's feet and the tap of her cane drew closer, her shadow reaching the back room before she did. The two beady eyes glinted in the firelight and set themselves on the shivering girl. The woman stopped short, her cane banging hard on the floor as her wet, shriveled mouth quivered on her face. A thin, high whistle came out of her mouth as she stared at the girl, her gnarled knuckles gripping the head of her cane. “Where…where did you get that ribbon, girl?”
The ribbon. She must have put it in her hair and forgotten to take it out. Just as Tavera gained her voice back, the woman's eyes darted to the floor in front of her, falling on the metal pieces in the girl's apron. Tavera felt the rage of the woman growing steadily, and then the sharp, hot pain of being grabbed by the ear.
The woman's fingers had an iron grip on the tender point and Tavera shrieked in pain, blocking the woman's cane with her hands, the hard wooden shaft cracking against her wet hands. Auntie Greswin panted, her beady eyes glazed over with intense emotion. She dropped her cane to the floor, her free hand reaching into her apron pockets. The glint Tavera saw out of the corner of her eye elevated her terror to heights unknown, and she fought against the old woman, shrieking and kicking, managing to drag the old woman to the floor with her. But the bony, stone-like fingers still gripped her ear.
r /> “Evil little girl,” the woman snarled, the glint still dancing somewhere out of Tavera's direct line of sight. The suggestion of what was there was worse than actually seeing it. “Stealing from me, breaking my machines! How dare you! I'll not have such treachery under my roof. Evil little creatures must be PUNISHED!” The glint shot closer and then the pain of her ear went from a throb to something sharp and raw.
Tavera was unable to keep back a beast-like shriek as the sensation seared into her brain. Something brushed against her fingers. She wrapped her small hands around it, striking around as hard as she could with it. It hit something both hard and soft. Tavera struck it again and again before the little girl realized nothing was holding her anymore. Tavera dropped whatever was in her hands and without thinking, shot up off the floor, propelling herself out the back door and bolting down the alley in the opposite direction than the thieves had gone.
Her boots and thin dress were worthless in the winter air. The thin leather soles skipped rhythmically across the barely cobbled streets as the girl ran desperately, tears threatening again in her eyes. Oh goddess, why had this
There were times when Tavera had to remind Madame Greswin who she was. The old woman would squint at her from time to time and call her by different names, Kera or Gema. Madame Greswin would complain about her joints and claimed she knew when it would snow by how they ached. Tavera wanted to say it sounded like nonsense to her. But no amount of complaints about pain ever stayed the old woman's hand with the cane so Tavera held her tongue and her wonder when the cold snows came.
The winter was harsh and the snow piled up to where the crone thought it unsafe to send Tavera out of doors to shovel. They spent more time around one another, the beady eyes of Auntie more likely to find fault with Tavera's doings the more time she spent indoors. After a particularly snowy set of days, Tavera wished she had never been taken in by the old crone. Everything she had done those few days had been wrong and with the snow piled high, she couldn't escape the old, shuffling woman and the long, wooden cane she wielded with such skill.
When the woman drank, it could go well or poorly. Sometimes she sipped something Tavera wasn't familiar with after going to temple. The alcohol dulled the old woman's senses so she slept deeply enough to allow Tavera to poke around. One late afternoon as the woman lay asleep in her bed, Tavera summoned the nerve to creep upstairs and into the small, sparsely furnished room serving as the woman's quarters. Further inspection revealed a crawlspace within the wall. The little girl was able to hold in her curiosity and bide her time till the next time the woman was out of the house, being sure to get all of her chores done before she clipped upstairs to the room.
In the crawlspace were several trunks marked with words she hadn't the education to decipher. Inside were old but well-done drawings of a woman and a man, the man obviously older than the girl with the solemn face who stood by him. There were a few beautiful quilts and two old-fashioned dresses. Best of all though were the half-dozen hair ribbons, some of them made from some kind of shiny material. Tavera held her fingers over the ribbons for a few brief seconds before snatching the two she thought were the nicest, quickly putting everything back where it went and running downstairs so she could hide them in her bedding.
After too many phases the snow let up to the point where it actually began to melt a little, the banks growing lower. The sun turned the white mountains into gray ponds and the water pooled wherever it could, filth and dirt lining the bottoms. Auntie Greswin went out of doors more, busying herself with charitable works; whatever it was that kept the old woman engaged. Tavera was glad to have more time to herself and less contact with the wooden cane, occupying her free time with her ribbons.
Sometimes she would tie them around her head and walk around the small house, talking to the inanimate objects as if they were people and she was a genteel woman. Other times she would tie the ribbons into knots so they formed makeshift dolls, always careful to flatten them out as best she could when she was done with them. And still there were days when she would find herself running up the stairs and throwing open one of the trunks, wondering who the people in the pictures were and what the symbols meant.
One day Tavera was doing just that when her ears perked up, hearing something downstairs. Could the woman be home already? Panic squeezed her heart as she quickly put everything away, cursing to herself as she pushed books, knick-knacks, and drawings back where they belonged. Tavera closed the crawlspace door as quietly and quickly as she could before she ran down the stairs, hoping the woman wouldn't beat her too violently for being upstairs. She threw open the door, stopping short as her dark eyes fell upon the scene.
In the back area where the sausages were made stood two men. One of them she recognized as the man who grilled the sausages, his eyes widening in alarm as they fell upon the little girl. Out of the storage area came another man, this one similar in coloring and build to the first but with darker hair. He held a few chains of sausages in his hand, looking to the griller before turning to the little girl, his face calm.
For a brief moment Tavera wondered what they were doing but a sinking dread in the pit of her stomach told her why they were there. Behind them the back door was wide open. She ran toward them, hoping she could get back the things they were intending to steal. “No, don't!” she screamed, the griller already out the door and gone before she made it to the back room.
Just as she reached the work table, the other man tipped the piece of furniture over, the sound of wood splintering and metal clanging ringing in her ears. Tavera just barely jumped out of the way as it came crashing down, shrieking at the sound and her narrow escape. Lying on the floor, she looked up just in time to see the second man run out through the back door. He didn't bother shutting it behind him.
Tavera scrambled up and around the table, running outside just in time to see them bolting down the alley. “Wait!” she shouted, her voice shrill, fear propelling her scream down the snowy street. “Please! Don't! Come back!” The men disappeared behind a building, not bothering to heed the trembling girl's pleas.
Tavera ducked back into the house, slamming the door behind her and trying to lock it, the tears in her eyes making the latch difficult to work. She began sobbing as she realized it was broken, wiping at her streaming eyes with the backs of her dirty hands as she looked over the scene. One of the legs of the table had fallen off, the door to the storeroom wide open. Tavera walked over to close it, drawing her breath in horror as a realization prickled in her brain.
The machine. She had left all the parts out on the table for the woman to inspect—and the man had tipped over the table. If Tavera knew any prayers, she would have recited them as she dropped to her hands and knees, desperately searching for the pieces of metal which belonged to Auntie Greswin's precious machines. Panic-stricken eyes scanned the floor, finding a few but not all. Quickly, she popped up and grabbed the broom, sweeping maniacally in the hopes of knocking one of the missing pieces out of hiding. A few actually did roll out and she spread them all out in front of her, counting the pieces feverishly. Tavera cursed. They weren't all there.
The sound of the front door opening flooded Tavera with fear. She felt as if she would vomit, and it took every shred of her being to keep herself from passing out from fright. Instead she sat there on the floor, frozen.
“Girl?” The shuffling of Madame Greswin's feet and the tap of her cane drew closer, her shadow reaching the back room before she did. The two beady eyes glinted in the firelight and set themselves on the shivering girl. The woman stopped short, her cane banging hard on the floor as her wet, shriveled mouth quivered on her face. A thin, high whistle came out of her mouth as she stared at the girl, her gnarled knuckles gripping the head of her cane. “Where…where did you get that ribbon, girl?”
The ribbon. She must have put it in her hair and forgotten to take it out. Just as Tavera gained her voice back, the woman's eyes darted to the floor in front of her, falling on the metal pieces in the girl's apron. Tavera felt the rage of the woman growing steadily, and then the sharp, hot pain of being grabbed by the ear.
The woman's fingers had an iron grip on the tender point and Tavera shrieked in pain, blocking the woman's cane with her hands, the hard wooden shaft cracking against her wet hands. Auntie Greswin panted, her beady eyes glazed over with intense emotion. She dropped her cane to the floor, her free hand reaching into her apron pockets. The glint Tavera saw out of the corner of her eye elevated her terror to heights unknown, and she fought against the old woman, shrieking and kicking, managing to drag the old woman to the floor with her. But the bony, stone-like fingers still gripped her ear.
r /> “Evil little girl,” the woman snarled, the glint still dancing somewhere out of Tavera's direct line of sight. The suggestion of what was there was worse than actually seeing it. “Stealing from me, breaking my machines! How dare you! I'll not have such treachery under my roof. Evil little creatures must be PUNISHED!” The glint shot closer and then the pain of her ear went from a throb to something sharp and raw.
Tavera was unable to keep back a beast-like shriek as the sensation seared into her brain. Something brushed against her fingers. She wrapped her small hands around it, striking around as hard as she could with it. It hit something both hard and soft. Tavera struck it again and again before the little girl realized nothing was holding her anymore. Tavera dropped whatever was in her hands and without thinking, shot up off the floor, propelling herself out the back door and bolting down the alley in the opposite direction than the thieves had gone.
Her boots and thin dress were worthless in the winter air. The thin leather soles skipped rhythmically across the barely cobbled streets as the girl ran desperately, tears threatening again in her eyes. Oh goddess, why had this
