For Peg Leg Meg

Who believed

The torch candle drooping heaving in its wall sconce cast out a flickering beacon of guidance in the otherwise gloomy passageway.  It’s tired and pitiful flame of dismal light weaved past the iron clad door, causing the darkness to dance around the edges just out of reach. [N1] Something squeaked and scurried past the rhythmic tangle of shadows, edging its way to the charming dish that lay by the door.

The small wooden dish in question was covered in mold from several weeks of unwashed food. The hunk of cheese that lay on top of it offered nothing better. Its center, if once soft, was no longer so. A thin, whitish-blue coating now covered it, and it reeked a spoiled and tainted smell much like the smell of someone passing gas and closing the door with occupants left inside.

The bowl of brackish water that accompanied it had sloshed in the rotted straw that served as a bed. It now offered up only a small trickle and gave an apologetic roll as it lay on its side.

It was the cheese the small vermin sought. Placing his front feet on the edge of the dingy dish it reached forward to snare the hunk, if it could be called that. He stopped and turned to look back in the dark toward the sodden bed of straw. His small beady eyes looked past the sliver of light that fell into the room to the shifting pattern of shadow. He gave a tiny chirp: a questioning query.

      “Go ahead, Cedric,” came a thin, tired voice. The body that accompanied the voice was suddenly wracked with congested coughs. “I’ve more important things to do than eat tonight. Certainly if I intend to have full concentration and not be on the…” He gestured towards the pot in the corner.  “I cannot be eating things such as that, my friend.”

      Cedric turned back to the feast to be had and silently began to fill his belly. He wondered if becoming a rat was worse than this poor man’s plight.

      CLANG!CLANG! CLANG! a metal bar thick with iron spikes collided with the small bars that stood lined up like soldiers guarding the window of the cell door. They gave not an inch under the duress. Cedric meanwhile beat a hasty retreat to the blackness.

 “Shaddup in there!! Hold that coughing in.’ A thin nasal voice demanded. You’re making the other prisoners uncomfortable. They think they’ll catch what you’ve got.”

This was accompanied by a dry, hacking laugh that sounded much like a cat hocking up a stubborn hairball. The guard, a rather big brute complete with hairy knuckles that probably would drag the ground if they weren’t holding up his pants and a belly that overlapped his belt, was enjoying the joke he’d just made. His snorts of laughter were visible upon the chilly, damp air. He was fully aware, as was the prisoner, that no one else was held this far down. He merely enjoyed tormenting the captive; little else to do when you can’t read and the light isn’t so good. He began singing a bawdy song, which despite his nasal overtones wasn’t half bad. He sauntered off down the narrow passage to the small hole in the wall where a fire was crackling and his tea was ready, taking the sad excuse of a torch with him.

The coughing began again and, when finished, left the prisoner feeling weak and cold. The damp cell was carved from the very mountains of Ripsaw themselves; the dank floor seeped up past the pitiful thatch of straw. He slumped along the wall to lay upon the decomposing heap and closed his eyes.

With the torch gone there was no difference between having his eyes open or closed. It is one thing to stare into the dark...but another thing completely to stare into pitch black. Dark offers shapes; the other offers nothing.

He felt Cedric snuggle down into his tattered pocket and drew a strange sort of comfort from the rodent’s tiny warmth. Then in his mind he began to chant over and over, Thomas, Thomas, pushing it beyond the brink of his mind, along the lines of connection. Silently he mouthed the name. Blocking out the dripping of water, the stench of decay, he focused on the face that went with the name. He had lost track of time when suddenly he felt the connection go taunt and snap. He sat up, and Cedric’s nose appeared above the ripped pocket. The man’s time-worn hand caressed the tiny head.

“It’s alright my friend, Our plan has been put into motion. It has begun.”

He lay back and breathed a sigh of relief and felt, for the first time, a trickle of hope.

The yellow balloon rolled to a stop at the intersection.  The moment the light turned green it bounced across four lanes of waiting traffic and, as the boy watched, it merrily made its way down Fourth Street and up the driveway of a tall, rambling house. A house whose lawn was scattered with toys and bikes and red wagons. It paused a moment as if checking to make sure it had the right address, then it took a leap, did a twirl in the air and disappeared behind a slightly-crooked fence.

The boy sighed and thought about where the balloon was headed. Perhaps to a birthday party, with a clown and a cake with ‘Happy Birthday!’ in colorful letters, carefully baked by a mom who knew just what her kid wanted.  But even that didn’t matter now.  Nothing really did now. 

He sighed, his breath making a small cloud on the window. His mother was gone.  Just up and vanished.  Dead, they had said, no details.  Too much for a young boy’s ears. They’d said.  Patted his head and sent him off.  Off to his Grandfather’s.  At least that was something.  The one silver lining in a otherwise bleak turn of life.  His heart hurt to think about it.   He pressed a finger into the middle of the cloud leaving a small smudge.[N1]  The cork on the carefully-bottled tears threatened to spill. He closed his eyes and willed the tears away.

“Tom, we should be there in five more minutes or so.”

That was Ms. Avery.  She had told him to call her Joan. But to him she was just the state worker and he was convinced state workers should be called by their last names. Ms. Avery was way too perky for someone who was helping strip his life bare. He barely glanced her way, thinking to himself, What does she take me for? A goob?

He knew how soon they’d be there. He and his mother had spent countless spring breaks and some summers here. Here with Grandpa in his sprawling old house[N2]  that smelled of lemon pie and the lilac trees that bloomed in the back yard. No one called him Tom. It was Thomas. Just plain Thomas. Thomas decided not to reply. Instead he continued to stare out the window, resting his chin on his arm that was propped on the arm rest.  Ms. Avery shifted uncomfortably, perhaps realizing the perkiness was a bit over the top. She sat a little straighter in her seat and breathed a sigh of relief as they passed the hand-lettered sign that proclaimed, ‘Welcome to Nonesuch.’ She’s probably as bored as me, Thomas realized. A three-hour drive in almost total silence was like watching a silent movie with boring actors. Ms. Avery flicked another glance in the rear view mirror and the engine revved as she pressed down a little more on the gas pedal.

To add to things Thomas was carsick. ‘Blah’ would be the best word to sum it up and trying to concentrate on green things as his grandpa had told him was hard to do now that they were in town.  He cranked the window open a tiny bit instead.  He closed his eyes, leaning the side of his face against the window, and let the breeze wash over him.  The smell of fresh-cut grass and some sort of tree in blossom soothed the feeling. That is until Ms. Avery took a rather steep right turn on to Peach Tree way.  He felt his stomach roll and was grateful when she pulled to a stop.

“We’re here!” trilled Ms. Avery.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled the handle and pushed the car door open, swinging up his backpack as he stepped out.  He stretched and felt the nausea subside. He felt relief at the sight of the familiar pale yellow  house[N3] .  Buttercup his mother had called it.  After collecting his two suitcases, he took off at a fast walk. Well, as fast as two loaded suitcases would bump along the gravel path.  He was beginning to wish he had worn his leather jacket instead of just his old green hoodie. Yesterday it was seventy degrees and today it was fifty five with a nippy breeze. Ah Spring. Maybe Grandpa would have some hot chocolate.

Taking the porch steps two at a time, he dropped his suitcases and they thumped to their sides grateful for the stop. He yanked open the screen door and was just about to knock on a very bright red door when he stopped. A face that was certainly not his grandfather’s peered out of the rectangular windows of the door.  Eyes so brown they were almost black met his blue ones[N4]  and held.  For some reason he couldn’t have put into words he felt his chest tighten and he looked away.  He dropped his hand from mid knock and his left hand from mid turn of door knob.

“Well aren’t you going to go on in?” said Ms. Avery as she came up behind him.

“Uh no, I was waiting on you.  Besides he may not even be here.  Does he know we’re coming?”

Oh yes, dear!  I talked to him two days ago.  He’s quite excited and I believe said something about giving you your old bedroom.” 

She patted him consolingly on the shoulder in that ‘Everything is going to be just okay’ sort of way.  He shifted to the left ever so slightly so that her hand dropped on the second pat. 

Mrs. Avery reached out to ring the doorbell.  He stole a glance upward, but the eyes were no longer peering out the slender windows.  They waited awkwardly, standing side-by-side. Ms. Avery’s light purple skirt twirled ever so slightly around her knees. She shivered as the breeze tugged at her matching suit coat with chilly fingers and plucked playfully at her tidy hair.

  She rubbed her arms. “Your grandfather is certainly taking his sweet time answering the door!”

Then the door opened.

What stood there was not what either was expecting.  If a horse could wear clothes then that would be the closest description you could give a friend. Her long face – and it was a her because she wore a long shapeless brown dress cinched in with a thin dark cord – housed a mouthful of rather bucked teeth.  So there she was. She stood looking at them almost expectantly. Thomas felt a weird tickling behind his eyes and then it was gone.  Ms. Avery recovered her tongue first.

“We’re here to see Mr. McKinnly Turnkey,” Ms. Avery pronounced. “He is expecting us.”  She clasped her hands behind her back rubbing her left hand with her right thumb.  Soothing the nerves Thomas guessed.  The lady facing them was a little unnerving.

“Ah, yes,” came a leaf-dry voice.  “Do come in we’ve been waiting for you.”  The horse-faced woman stepped back against the door, rather like a statue, and waited for them to come in, then gestured with a hand. “First door to the left.”

 Ms. Avery went first, already yakking as she walked down the hallway, making a left at the large living room. Thomas stepped in tugging his luggage behind him. He nodded at the imposing figure, taking care not to meet her eyes, and headed toward his room to dump off his gear.  A bony hand reached out and snagged his hoodie from behind.  He felt a jerk that had him turning halfway back around.  His backpack slipped off his shoulder and his pieces of luggage once again found themselves on their sides.

Now facing him, the woman dropped her hand, folding it back neatly with its mate. Never lifting her voice she eyed him and said, “You’ll want to go to the living room first.”

It wasn’t really even a suggestion.  It was more of an order.  Thomas, unsure what to do, kept his focus on her folded bony hands and wondered if she kept a broom somewhere.   He turned away and shuffled down the hall toward the living room. Not one given to rudeness he opted to mutter under his breath.

“Geesh, what cleaning ad did Grandpa hire her out of?”

“You’ll find my hearing is much better than you’re giving me credit for.  I hope you’re not as foolhardy as I’m giving you credit for.”

He swallowed and made the turn into the living room, full intent on parking it in the Lay-z Boy.  No such luck.  If the door Nazi was a horsey woman then the one who occupied said chair favored a hippo.  This second stranger was so fat that her skin looked tight as a sausage or like a water-soaked hippo.  She was as colorful as field of wild flowers and truly that’s how many flowers were on her dress.  Thomas doubted he had ever seen so many flowers in one spot. Her eyes, just below the fringe of her brown mushroom cut, were seated so close side-by-side that they seemed to almost be fighting to come out the same hole.  He tried to look away as she sucked the meat off a chicken leg, the grease dripping right down her chin.  Her breath came in wheezy little puffs as she chewed the hearty mouthful, making her sound for all the world like a pig rooting for truffles. She licked the bone and her fingers.  The tiny pug squeezed beside her looked hopefully at the bits dropping on her rolling stomach.

Thomas broke his gaze and looked away, hoping his pause mid-stride went unnoticed. He went to sit on the only other available spot, the little footstool in the corner of the room. Ms. Avery sat on the love seat under the window which just so happened to be as far away from the large woman as possible.  She sat primly with her hands clasped. Apparently even her love for words could not breach the current situation.  She looked up from her hands as the somber one glided into the room, bringing what was an icy chill into the air.

“I take it Mr. Turnkey is on his way?  I do hope he won’t be long I have another appointment directly after this one.”  This was a lie, as she had told Thomas during that drive that she had not one thing planned besides stopping at Bean Juice on her way out of Nonesuch.  Clearly she just wanted to be done with this whole awkward situation.

“Ah no.”  I’m afraid Mr. Turnkey has been called away on business and asked us to step in and take his place.”  She said this with a small tweak of a smile at the corner of her thin lips, as if something amused her.

Thomas looked up from the rug he had been studying, and blurted out before thinking, “What do you mean he was called away on business?  He promised to be here. He said nothing about you two! Whoever you are.” His face was one big question mark, a slightly-angry question mark, or perhaps a little more bewildered than angry. 

The Horse merely eyed him.  Her dark eyes looking slightly menacing.  And truthfully if it had been anything else he would have kept his mouth shut. She was a bit worrisome like she could exact revenge by just thinking it.  He rubbed his eyes, his head feeling tingly. He hoped not. Under the weight of her stare Thomas leaned away against the wall feeling like a very deflated balloon.

“I see this one is full of questions.”  The Horse said to The Hippo.

“Well he does have a little bit of a point,” Ms. Avery piped up. “He was so hoping for his Grandfather.  When I talked to him early this week he didn’t mention anything of his leaving and having you take his place.”

Ms. Avery to the rescue! Thomas felt a little gratitude toward her and maybe a little sorry that he had been a bit rude to her.

“We are the boy’s Aunties.  Sisters Gertrude,” here she pointed at The Hippo who had finished her snack and was now picking bits off herself, “and Agatha.” She laid her fingers lightly upon her chest. “We are to see to the boy’s needs while his grandfather is away.  He left you a letter.” 

From within the folds of her dress she held out a cream envelope with a small red wax seal on the back.  The front was marked ‘Ms. Joan Avery’ in swirly handwriting.  Ms. Avery took the proffered envelope and opening it she proceeded to read

My Dear Ms. Avery,

       I regret that I am unable to be there to meet you and welcome Thomas.  I unfortunately have been called away on business that cannot take care of itself.  I have asked my dear and wonderful sisters in laws: Gertrude and Agatha Alexander to watch over Thomas till I can return.  They will see to his needs as well as I could if I were there.  Again I apologies for not being able to meet you.

Sincerly,

McKinnly R. Turnkey

“I see.” And with that and only that comment she set to work pulling out the appropriate forms.  Thomas decided that he wasn’t the least bit sorry for being rude to her.  For a hero she was not.

Ms. Avery left and Thomas watched out the front door as his last bid for freedom waved cheerfully out her window and drove off.

“I’ll show you to your room,” came a dry papery voice.

“S’ok,” he said not turning around.  “I’ve stayed here enough I’m pretty sure I can get there on my own.”

“I think not,” said Auntie Agatha.  “I’ll show you to your new room. And from now on a little less sass will do you good.”

He slowly turned around.  Thinking to himself that there weren’t any more rooms than Grandpa’s, Mom’s and his own. 

“OK,” he said slowly. 

Picking up his backpack and luggage straps he trudged behind her out of the living room.  The little fat pug dog hopped down and followed, nearly tripping him as it squeezed between his feet.

Aunt Agatha floated up the stairs leading to the attic. Thomas gulped.  Seriously? The attic?  He was having a devil of a time lugging his suitcases up the narrow stairs.  He made it halfway before he stopped for a breath and not to bump into her.  She stopped and produced an ancient key from some hidden pocket and inserted it into the door.  Stepping inside the doorway she paused and looked back at him.  By this time he had managed to get the suitcases to the door and was feeling a mite proud of himself.  That feeling soon abated when he got a good look at the room. A small window faced him in a narrow room, slanted ceiling meeting like an A.  A small cot was slid against the left wall, and a small dresser on the other. A lone, naked bulb dangled from the center of the ceiling and that was that. He felt like things had just went from the worst to worse, if that were possible.

“So this is it? Homey little spot isn’t it? Right down to the patchwork quilt on the bed,” Thomas said. He turned to look at her.  She smiled a small smile.  Whether she missed the sarcasm or merely logged it away for future fuel for meanness he could not read.  For in her face, she did not let on.

“Ah yes, I’m pleased you like it so.”  No she didn’t miss his sarcasm as she injected a little venom of her own. Dinner is at six sharp.  You would do well to be there on time. Tardiness is ill manners and ill manners should not be fed.” She looked at him with her eyebrow slightly raised.  Understood?”

Thomas looked away, nodding.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a swoosh of skirt and his door closed.  Turning to face his room once more he sighed, dropped the luggage straps and flopped on the cot, where one spring found him immediately and the pillow let his head sink till there was barely anything between his skull and the sparse mattress. He shifted, rolled over and tried to keep the tears from coming.  But no matter how old you are sometimes you just can’t hold them in.  As he fell asleep too tired to think, a small tear trickled to his too-thin pillow. It was at this moment the little pug hopped up, curled into the crook of his knees and sighed.  They both missed dinner and soon learned house rule number one.