“Forest on the Moon”
By Eric St. Pierre
Mrs. Gray put the lights out several hours ago, Nell thinks. She’s nearly sure of it because she has counted constellations and their stars several dozen times. Not all of them. Only the ones she knows. And the ones she’s made up, which she is positive are there. She dreamed of them. She drew them and gave them names. That’s what makes a thing real.
Nell lies in the top bunk closest to the window. Mr. and Mrs. Gray don’t know she’s in the top bunk closest to the window. Each night after her evening chores are done and lights out! has been announced, she carefully peals back the made sheets and the coarse green blanket of her assigned single cot near the door. She takes extra care not to ruffle the sheets or disturb the pillow. When she can no longer hear Mrs. Gray’s footsteps and all lights are put out, she gingerly places a bitesize candy bar beneath her cot. She then untucks herself, sits up, and slides her feet into her slippers. She checks again for Mrs. Gray by placing her ear against the wall. She hears water rushing through the pipes in the walls. She hears the muffled sound of Mr. Gray playing Chopin from his Crosley record player upstairs. That’s when she knows the coast is clear.
Nell makes her way across the dark and sprawling room to the top bunk nearest the window. This is something she could do with her eyes closed. She knows this because she’s tried it. ‘What would it mean to be blind?’
Nell crosses paths with Dorothy, who wears a pink nightgown too small for her. They exchange winks and nods. Dorothy gives two thumbs up. Nell flashes a thumb in return. This is their nightly ritual: a chocolate for the choice cot nearest the window. Not a word is spoken. The currencies of Gray’s Home come in many forms, but the deal is part of the economy in which candies, chores, and choice spots are negotiated.
Nell reaches the top bunk nearest the girls’ room single window and delicately moves the nearly sheer curtain to the side.
The moon is covered by clouds tonight. Nell opens her eyes as wide as she can hoping to catch a glimpse of a hint of the moon that might peek from behind the billow. No such luck. That the stars would be unobscured and not the moon is a great unfairness.
A crick in her neck. Nell turns from her back to her side to face the window.
“Ain’t you ever going to sleep?” Alicia, the girl in the bunk below Nell, complains.
Shushes and groans from around the room.
“Ain’t you ever going to sleep, or aren’t ya?” Whispers Alicia. Sandpaper in her throat.
Nell closes her eyes and counts constellations from memory until sleep blankets her.
***
4:25 am. At least that’s what it feels like. It will be another hour before Mrs. Gray enters the girls’ room, claps her hands three times, and says, ‘Up and up, young ladies. Today is new and the hours are few,’ or some other jovial aphorism. It will be another precious hour before rumpus and flair erupt from the boys’ side of the Home. This is her golden hour.
From the top bunk nearest the window, Nell can see the azaleas that line the land on which her home, Gray’s Home for Unfortunate Children, sits. She can see the sweet olive trees among the bushes near the cow parlor at the far end of the field. A light breeze tickles the sweet olive leaves. Nell imagines thousands of green piano keys played by a great invisible giant. She pretends she can smell the fragrance of the tree, pungent and immediate. A waxing moon rests now unobscured in the fleeting minutes before the sun makes its brilliant and piercing spectacle.
Hello. There you are. I have missed you so much.
I have missed you, too.
A tap on Nell’s shoulder. A pull at her nightgown. With one eye closed and the other half shut, Dorothy yawns like a hippopotamus in the Nile. The communion between Nell and the moon is broken.
Shuffles and scuffles from below.
“Already? Just a moment more,” Nell whispers.
Dorothy shakes her head and begins to climb to the top bunk. Nell hops down with a sigh.
“I’m tellin’ if you keep on wakin’ me up. It ain’t right,” says Alicia from the bottom bunk. “I’ll tell Misses and Mister, too.” Nell kneels and speaks softly.
“You promised you wouldn’t,” Nell says.
“I get no chocolate. I get no peace in the dead of night or the dawn.” Alicia punches the bunk above her. “I don’t get to pick where I sleep. Heck, I don’t get to sleep t’all anymore.”
“I’ll make it right. Don’t tell.” Nell says. Dorothy snores lightly from the top bunk.
“Uh-huh.” Alicia pulls the covers over her head.
Waiting for Nell on her own unmade and ruffled cot is a candy wrapper. There are chocolate fingerprints on her white pillowcase. She turns the pillow and hides the wrapper beneath it. She lies on her back on top of the coarse green blanket and stares at the ceiling, wishing she could see through it. She turns her head. Across the room, the window is a glowing speck a thousand miles away. She closes her eyes.
*
The hour went by more like a minute. It seemed as though Mrs. Gray had clapped her hands three times and said, ‘Up and up, girls. The day waits for no man and hesitates for no lady,’ nearly the moment Nell had closed her eyes.
The morning routine, in which she had participated one thousand five hundred and thirty-six times, now thirty-seven, came and went in a flash. It goes like this: clapping hands to snap young girls into wakefulness, bright light from opened curtains. Then, there is the long line to the latrine. The floor is cold if you forget your slippers. The boys pick at girls and rush past to their latrine, their line is never as long as the girls’. Brush your teeth, do your business, and wash your hands. The morning duties are always written in perfect cursive on the blackboard in the dining room. Dozens of little shiny heads peer over one another to see who among them is to milk the stubborn heifers in the milking parlor; who gets to pick oranges or vegetables, and who gets to bring in flowers from the field. All assignments are based on Mrs. Gray’s mysterious formula. Mrs. Gray says it is determined on merit and behavior, but the girls know better. They dress appropriately for their morning work.
“Whadya get?” Alicia asks Nell back in the girls’ dormitory.
“Sweeping again. The whole porch and walkway. Then, dishes after breakfast.” Nell fastens a black apron over her work dress.
“I got the tit*. The whole flink of ‘em. Me and the new girl. Lady Gray has it out for me.” Alicia pulls her work dress over her head. “Wish she’d let us wear long pants.”
“At least you don’t have to make butter,” Nell says.
“I suppose.” Alicia struggles with her dress. “That’s for boys anyhow.”
“You don’t want to milk the cows?” Nell says.
“O’course not. Don’t really want to have no folks neither, but so it is.” Alicia gestures.
“Trade with me,” Nell says while untying her apron and tying it again. “If you sweep, I’ll milk the cows and do the dishes.”
“Whatcha got against sweepin’?” Alicia scrunches her face.
“Nothing at all,” Nell says.
“What’s it worth to ya?” Alicia raises an unsculpted eyebrow.
“I’ll let you sleep,” Nell says. Alicia scoffs. “No, I mean I’ll give you my lone cot near the door when Dorothy and I trade. I’ll get her to take yours. You’ll be all to yourself. No moving about from me and no snoring from Dorothy,” Nell says.
“No snoring from Dot? A cot to myself?” Alicia furrows her brow. “I’ll be all the way across the room near the door, you say?”
“That’s right. All the way.” Nell nods and unties her apron.
“Deal.” Alicia spits in her hand and extends it to Nell. She hesitates. “I’m just kiddin’ you.” Alicia wipes her hand on her apron.
“Why do you want to milk the cows anyway? It’ll stink you up all day,” asks Alicia.
Nell looks past her for a few moments. Alicia motions for eye contact. “I like the sweet olive trees out there by the parlor. They smell good,” Nell explains.
“Sure. You’ll hav’ta work with new girl Naveena. She’s weird, you know. She doesn’t sleep in the girls’ room. She’s too good for us. I heard she sleeps at the foot of mister and misses’ bed like a little dog,” Alicia laughs. “I heard she has parents. I heard they’re loaded and just don’t want her around because she spooks all the business and society types that come in and out of their mansion all day.” Alicia smirks. “I know things. You should listen t’me.”
“So, we’ll trade then?” Asks Nell.
“I said deal. That means it’s a deal.” Alicia says.
“Thank you.” Nell is suddenly embarrassed for offering thanks.
“Yeah.” Alicia’s face softens, and she looks away. “Wash your pillowcase today. I ain’t sleepin’ on that mess.”
“You got it,” Nell says.
*
Nell approaches the pasture with a milk bucket swung over her shoulder. She wants to skip, but her stomach is empty this early morning. It tells her to not move around so much. She unlatches the gate, steps through, and latches it behind her. She walks along the edge where the sweet olive trees and azaleas meet the fence line. She notices two girls bent over harvesting yellow and white flowers from the field. They pluck the best ones and put them in baskets. Their hats keep falling off.
Nell stops and squeezes a handful of sweet olive leaves and flowers. She holds it to her face and inhales deeply. Her flesh tightens and her eyes cross. Is this what it smells like up there?
She pulls a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her apron and covers it under the brush beneath the tree. She takes a handful of the tree’s flowers and leaves and places them in the front of her blouse against her bare skin. Her eyes readjust to the eerie young morning light that spreads across the pasture.
The flower-picking girls place their hats upon their heads again and dance with one another in a circle. Nell sees the new girl enter the parlor in the distance.
Nell corrals cows into the dirt-floored parlor. Naveena, the new girl, helps lead them each into their stalls.
“You ever done this before?” Nell asks.
“No. Misses said Alicia would show me,” Naveena says.
“We traded.” Nell sits her bucket down and motions for Naveena to do the same.
“What did you trade?” Asks Naveena.
“Nothing. I can teach you.” Nell sits on a stool and begins her chore.
“It’s not hard, then?” Asks Naveena.
“No, not hard.” Sound of milk spraying the bottom of the bucket, “Your hands will cramp. Just think of something else when they do because you have to keep going.” Naveena sits on the second stool and begins to mimic Nell.
“You have done this before,” Nell says.
“Haven’t. Never been on a farm ever. It stinks in here,” Naveena says.
Nell stops milking and pauses. “Here.” She pulls some of the sweet olive pieces from her work blouse and extends an open palm to the new girl. “Hold on to this. It helps with the smell. Stick it down your blouse.”
“Wow, thanks! This’ll help a million. What’s your favorite class here? I used to like theater classes before but there aren’t any here. So, I don’t know what I like. Probably art. Yeah, Miss Stevens, the art teacher is the sweetest and nicest teacher we have, even though her name is a man’s name. Steven. At least it isn’t Miss Donalds.” Naveena bobs her head as she speaks. “Well?”
“Well?” Nell pauses. “Oh, art. Yes, I like art the best, too,” Nell says. “Miss Stevens is lovely. She likes my drawings.”
Long moments pass. The only sounds are shuffling hooves, milk hitting buckets, and the occasional moo from a heifer. Nell’s stomach growls, breaking the quiet.
“What do you think about?” Naveena asks after almost an hour of milking.
“About what?” Nell says.
“When your hands hurt,” Naveena answers.
“Do your hands hurt?” Nell says.
“No.” The new girl’s shoulders rise, her chin dips. Nell adjusts on her stool.
“I like to think about stars. I mostly like to think about the moon, but the stars, too,” Nell says. Naveena perks up.
“What do you know about the moon? You want to know what I know about the moon?” Naveena speaks rapidly. “When I used to go to school, my teacher said there’re craters on the moon. Big, huge holes. I said no ma’am, that’s a man up there. He got his eye poked with a rocket ship. Teacher said I couldn’t go to school anymore because I wouldn’t believe her. Mom and Dad said…” Naveena stops milking.
“I don’t see a man,” Nell says, “I see a forest.”
“Then you’d be told you can’t come back, too. Just like me. Your mother would have to teach you spelling and adding instead,” Naveena says. “What happened to your mother?”
“Nothing happened to her.” Nell stops milking. “She’s on a trip. When are your parents picking you up? When is your mother going to teach you how to mind your business? Why don’t you think about that instead of being nosey?”
“I’m sorry,” Naveena says.
“We’re done anyway. It’s time to eat. Help me carry the buckets behind the house. And give me back my flowers,” Nell says.
***
Breakfast is served at several tables lined up in the dining room. Boys and girls sit together. Mr. Gray says his acts of thanks before the children forget all manner of pageantry and politeness.
Nell nudges the buttermilk biscuit on her plate with a fork. She stirs her grits and nibbles her fresh scrambled yard eggs. The glass of milk in front of her goes untouched.
Naveena sits across from Nell and is sandwiched between two boys: Donald, who has been a resident of Gray’s Home for Unfortunate Children since the age of two, and Digory, a stout boy who does not speak. A small blackboard hangs from his neck. It dips in and out of his grits. Nell gags as she watches it bob up and down.
“Digory, please. Your blackboard and grits,” Nell says. “Your maners.” Donald punches Digory on the arm. A flying piece of biscuit smacks Donald in the face from somewhere down the table. He snickers.
Sheepish Digory wipes at the blackboard with the cloth from his lap. He nods, then shakes his head.
“Really, Digory. You mustn’t…” Nell pauses.
Written on the blackboard that hangs from Digory’s chest, as though by magic, are the words, look behind. Behold, a red robin pecks and dances outside the window behind Nell. She stands, causing her chair to tip backward.
“Let it in,” Nell breathes deeply. “Let it in!”
“Let what in, madam Penelope?” Mr. Gray calls from the end of the table as he dabs his mouth with a white embroidered napkin. Silence. Every eye is on Nell.
“The bird at the window, sir,” Nell says. The children chortle and gibe.
“Ain’t no bird, Nelly. Look.” Alicia points to the birdless window.
“Settle down, all. Birds come and go from here always. We won’t let them in today. We won’t let them in tomorrow,” says Mrs. Gray.
“Digory’s blackboard. He…” Nell gestures to Digory. There is no writing scrawled in white chalk hanging from his neck. She replaces her chair. It scrapes along the wooden floor. Digory holds his chalkboard close to his chest and continues to eat. “Right then.” Nell adjusts. “May I be excused for chores?”
***
The kitchen is unlike the other rooms at Gray’s Home for Unfortunate Children. It is as unorganized and cluttered as the rest of the house is tidy and distilled. There are piles of ancient recipe books slick with old grease. There are markings on the walls indicating who was there and who has a crush on who. The house staff congregates there to socialize in between duties.
The wall furthest from the entrance is covered in a faded mural. It depicts an image of a few dozen of the children and workers who have come and gone over the years. At the center is the Home atop the great green hill with its waves of hills splashing forth from it. Bookending the scene are figures of an elderly man and woman, one pointing upwards, and the other with a hand over the heart, respectively.
The identity of the artist behind this admired mural has been lost to history. Some of the children speculate it was created by Mrs. Gray herself although it was painted years before the Grays took over. Having no concept of the artist’s trick of forced perspective, some say it was painted by one of the first children long dead, and that child’s ghost possesses the wall, given the eyes follow an onlooker when they pass.
Nell and Digory prepare the sink area to wash the breakfast dishes. Digory takes his blackboard from around his neck and hangs it nearby.
“Do you do it on purpose?” Nell hides her curiosity behind pretended hostility as she fits her hands into yellow rubber gloves up to her elbows. The scrubbing brush slips from Digory’s hand.
“Here,” Nell picks up the brush, “you rinse, I’ll wash.” The mute boy nods, and smiles. They trade positions.
“Do you? Do you do it to make a fool of me? To kid me? To be so cruel?” Nell looks into the soapy water as she interrogates poor Digory whose cheeks are now as flushed as a beet. The bubbles reflect her iridescent image a thousand times over.
“Oh,” Nell suspects Digory may be innocent, “The boys, I mean. Their plates and silverware. So dirty when my name is on the list for dishes.” She feigns a laugh. “You and the other boys want to work me to my death.” Her acidity dissolves. She is placid, smiling.
Digory shakes his head.
“It must be my imagination. Mister says it runs away from me. He says it would serve me to,” Nell stops scrubbing, “to use it for practical things. I am too old for pretending, he says.”
Digory’s eyes widen. He clinches Nell by the elbow perhaps a little too hard. He mouths an unknown word. Nell gently removes Digory’s grasp and studies him. Digory’s gaze goes to the mural. Its washed-out ghostliness captivates him. Who could have put something this pretty in a kitchen?
“Dig, why can’t you speak? I don’t mean to…” Nell catches herself. “Weren’t you ever able?”
Digory is snapped out of his fascination. He nods.
***
Digory Loving was seven years old when he and his parents left the home Digory had known his whole short life.
His father took a briefcase to work every day and returned every night with a different briefcase. ‘I’m a salesman,’ his father explained one evening when Digory had asked him what he does for a job.
‘Do you sell briefcases, pop?’ the boy asked.
‘I sell all manner of things.’ His father picked up his drink and made the ice jingle.
‘Why do you need so many briefcases? Are they easy to lose?’
‘Go to your room.’ His father drank from the glass and pursed his lips.
Several evenings later as Digory practiced his lines for his upcoming role as the hobgoblin, Puck, in his school’s cartoonish rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, his mother, a lithe of a woman with hair red like orange sherbet, barged into his room commanding him with water in her eyes to pack his belongings. The family was leaving the city that very night. For good.
“Mum, I have to practice my words for the play. There can’t be a Night’s Dream without a Puck,” said Digory as he tongued his loose incisor.
“Then there will be no play, my boy.” His mother’s voice cracked.
That night Digory, his mother, and his father packed what they could and got into a car he had never seen. A man dressed in black whom Digory had never met drove them fast and long into the night through a thunderstorm. The sound of fat raindrops on the roof of the car lulled Digory to sleep. His head rested on his mother’s lap.
***
Lights out! A bitesize candy in Nell’s palm. Her feet slide into slippers. She checks the wall for running water and Chopin. “The Revolutionary Etude” has begun. The coast is clear. She tiptoes across the room to the top bunk nearest the window. Dorothy is climbing down the ladder. Alicia sits up in her bottom bunk.
“Dot, I swear to God, if you get chocolate on my pillow and sheets, I’ll sock you one,” Alicia threatens Dorothy. Dorothy sticks out her tongue. “I swear it!” Groans and shushes from around the room.
Nell slaps the candy into Dorothy’s open hand. Alicia backsteps toward the bunk by the door, keeping an eye on Dorothy. Dorothy looks for comfort in the bottom bunk and devours the candy.
Nell climbs to the top bunk. It is a bright night. No clouds are covering her precious moon. Nell shakes with glee and clasps her hands.
Hello, hello. I have missed you so much. Tell me, does it smell like sweet olive trees up there?
Light snoring from below.
Hello, hello. Are you there? It’s time to tell you about my day.
A short snort from Dorothy below, followed by more snoring.
Hello, hello. Where did you go?
Nell begins to pant and swallow heavily.
I have forgotten what you look like. I do not want to forget your voice, too. Where did you go?
A hot tear rolls down the girl’s cheek as she sits up and places both hands on the window. The window fogs, leaving two small prints.
What do I do next?
Nell sits transfixed on her dearest moon. Her prize. Her secret. Her confidant. All night there is no answer. After what seems like many thousands of intolerable moments, Alicia approaches.
“Time to switch,” Alicia shakes Dorothy. “Come on, I ain’t got all day. Outta there. Now.” Dorothy inches out of the cot. “You too, space case. Let’s go.” Alicia pulls at Nell’s nightgown. Nell turns. Her eyes are wet and her lips are cracked.
“What’s the matter with you? I knew this wouldn’t work,” Alicia says. She shakes her head.
“She wasn’t there. She’s always there,” Nell says.
“Sure. Hey, we got about an hour. Get some sleep,” Alicia says. “Go on back to your spot.”
Nell had conversed with the moon one thousand five hundred and six times. That is every clear night after arriving at Gray’s Home and learning of Dorothy’s insatiable sweet tooth. On this clear night, her dearest moon did not answer her questions. It did not speak kind poetry to her. It said nothing at all. It simply hung in the clear night sky. Maybe Naveena is right. There’s a man up there and not a forest, she thought, and immediately shook the idea from her mind. No man could have such an angelic voice. No man could say pretty things like that and comfort her the way the moon could.
Nell, for the second night in a row, lies on her back on top of the coarse green blanket and stares at the ceiling, wishing she could see through it.
***
Just as all the mornings before, the residents of Gray’s Home for Unfortunate Children crowd around the big blackboard to take note of their chores for the day. Alicia is in front of the group. Nell is at the back. Alicia exits the crowd from the side. Nell calls for her attention.
“Ali,” Nell calls out. Alicia pretends to not hear her and walks down the hallway. “Ali!” Nell shouts. Alicia stops.
“You don’t hav’ta be friendly with me. This is a business deal, right? If you want the heifers again, you’ll have to give something extra,” Alicia says.
“I’ll do all of it. I’ll sweep, too. Deal?” Nell extends her hand.
“No deal,” Alicia crosses her arms.
“Don’t make me spit, please.” Nell frowns.
“Ha! Nah, I want something more than that. Might save that one for later, though,” Alicia says.
“What is it?” Nell asks.
“I want to know why you want to milk the cows so bad. Nobody wants to milk the cows. And don’t tell me about good-smelling trees,” Alicia says. Nell pauses.
“I can’t tell you,” Nell whispers.
“Then I can’t trade with you.” Alicia begins to walk away.
“If I tell you, then it won’t matter anymore and I won’t want to trade. Please, Alicia. Let me do all your chores for a week. Just trade with me, okay?” Nell pleads. Alicia stops walking and turns to Nell.
“My chores and your chores? For a whole week?” Alicia scratches her cheek.
“A whole week. Deal?” Nell extends her hand again.
“Deal.” Alicia smiles. The girls shake on it.
*
A familiar setting. Eerie yellow light blurs the forever field of flowers in a low-hanging mist. Dancing petal pickers in the distance wearing hats too big. Nell again walks through the pasture along the edge where the sweet olives and azaleas meet the fence line. The moon rests opposite the rising sun this morning. Nell pulls down a branch of a sweet olive tree and gazes at the sky. She waits a beat and releases the branch. She places a handful of the blooms and leaves in the front of her blouse.
It’s so very quiet.
She pulls a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her apron and covers it under the brush beneath the tree.
Inside the dirt-floored milking parlor is Naveena. She has already gathered the cows and set the buckets out.
“Thanks,” Nell says. “I would’ve been here earlier, but I go the long way.”
“It’s no problem. I don’t mind,” Naveena says. “They listen to me alright.” She pats the side of her heifer.
“I got some for you.” Nell takes some flowers and leaves from her blouse and gives them to Naveena.
The girls do their work in silence until their buckets are almost full.
“Why don’t you sleep in the girls’ room? Where do you go?” Nell startles Naveena. “You know. It’s different, is all.”
Naveena turns from Nell.
“I won’t tell anybody or make fun,” Nell says.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me where your mother went.” Naveena faces Nell and stands.
“My mother?” Nell asks.
“You said she went on a trip. Misses says you’ve been here almost five years,” Naveena says.
“She told you that?” Nell says.
“Yes,” Naveena answers.
“When you were in school, and you said there was a man on the moon. You said a rocket ship poked his eye out. How do you know?” Nell asks.
“Father said he saw it on a screen. A big screen somewhere. He said some men built a rocket shaped like a bullet and shot it out of a cannon right into the man in the moon’s eye.” Naveena speaks rapidly. “The men stayed on the moon and watched the Earthrise. Imagine watching the Earthrise! Father said they could see other people from the stars of the Big Dipper. He said there’s a lady named Phoebe up there who takes care of the men. She’s a goddess.” Naveena smiles widely and clears her throat. “You think about the moon when your hands hurt?”
“My mother went to the moon.” Nell waits; holds her breath. “I think about her up there.”
“Just like Phoebe? Is Phoebe your mother, Nell? Is your mother a goddess?” Asks Naveena.
“No. What I mean is I don’t know, really. I don’t remember her name.” Nell’s voice trails.
“Just like you asked me, how do you know? How do you know your mother is on the moon?” Asks Naveena.
“Tell me why you don’t sleep in the girls’ room and I’ll tell you how I know my mother is on the moon. I’ll know your secret and you’ll know mine. That’s fair,” Nell says.
“It’s fair.” Naveena’s lip quivers. She places her hand on her forehead and slowly moves it down to her chin, forming a point with her thumb and index finger. “Every night I slept by myself. I’m not a baby, you know.” She claps once and raises her eyebrows. “All the time I slept in my room. I was never scared. Not ever.”
“Naveena,” Nell sighs.
“Well, I wasn’t,”
“I believe you,”
“But I’m scared now. I don’t like to be alone. My mother didn’t go to the moon. And my father didn’t either. It snowed that day and Father made a fire in the fireplace. It smelled good like fires do. Like it was Christmas only it wasn’t Christmas. Mother, she sat there at the dinner table and didn’t say anything. So, I was quiet, too. When we were done, she took our plates and walked up and down the hall and in and out of the kitchen and into her room like she had had too much coffee. Father sat in his chair in the living room looking at that fire. I was playing on the carpet. Coloring, I think. Then, I asked him if he wanted to play with me. He told me to go to bed, and I did. Mother didn’t tuck me in.” Sadness on Naveena’s face.
“The fire caught on the carpet. That’s what the man said. It took my parents,” Naveena explains. “He was a big man with a helmet on. He had a thick coat and a big gold belt buckle. I couldn’t see his mouth. He had a bushy mustache in the way.” The girls are interrupted by the noise of children running to the house.
“We have to go. We can’t miss grace. Mister will know,” Nell says.
“The smoke and fire took my mother and father while they slept. The fire took my whole house and everything inside it. It didn’t take me,” Naveena says. “The man gave me to a lady who brought me here. The lady gave me a sandwich and said Mister and Misses were nice people. It was a ham sandwich. I don’t like ham.”
“We have to go now,” Nell says.
“It didn’t take me. The fire didn’t take me.”
***
The breakfast table. The grace incantation has been said. Everyone is in their regular seats. Nell folds her hands in her lap and stares at her plate. A quiet breeze moves the bushes and trees outside.
“Hey space case, you with us?” Alicia asks with a mouthful of breakfast.
“Space case! Space case!” Donald laughs.
“Not hungry, thank you,” Nell says. She cuts her eyes to Donald.
Digory looks to his left and right. He then scribbles the word, “eat” on his chalkboard.
“Digory,” Nell says.
Digory shakes his chalkboard. He then puts his hands together in a petitioning prayer. Nell sighs and looks away. She cuts into a piece of breakfast sausage with her fork and nibbles.
“She’s not a space case. She’s smarter than you, dumb Donald,” Naveena says.
“Who’s askin’? You clack-box imp. I should pop you one, weirdo,” Donald says.
“Go right ahead. I’ll slug you back. Hard, too. You’ll cry to your mammy and your pappy,” Naveena says.
Donald shoves Naveena. Naveena shoves back. The children begin to hoot and holler. Digory grabs Donald by the collar and takes him to the ground. Alicia lets out a battle cry and jumps onto her chair. Several other children follow suit.
“Children!” Mrs. Gray cries. Mr. Gray stumbles over his chair and jams his hip on the table as he rushes to clear the fight.
“Enough. Double chores for a week,” Mr. Gray struggles to lift Digory from Donald, “both of you.”
The boys stand at attention as Mr. Gray reprimands them. Nell, who has remained seated during the scuffle, notices a message on Digory’s chalkboard. It says, “Fly to me. The sparrow knows.” Nell swallows hard.
*
The kitchen buzzes with chatter from the house’s staff. A pot of water boils over into the flames of the stove. A house cook stirs the pot with a wooden spoon. A light mist of cigarette smoke layers the low ceiling.
They take on more and more children and don’t hire more staff.
My feet hurt.
Your feet hurt? My everything hurts.
I wish they’d hire one more cook at least. Not like there aren’t ladies lined up for jobs nowadays.
They let a new girl on yesterday afternoon. Cute thing. I heard Mr. Gray tell Mrs. Gray that hiring a new girl is out of the question. You know she did it anyway.
You call her cute. I call her boney. Doesn’t look like she knows her way around the kitchen, I’ll tell you that!
The women laugh and holler, all but unaware of Nell and Digory at the washing sink.
“Thanks for what you did; standing up to Donald.” Nell hands a plate to Digory.
Digory nods and rinses the plate. He looks at Nell and gives a proud smile.
“Oh, I mean Naveena will likely thank you, too,” Nell clears her throat, “I’m sorry you got in trouble. Donald is a gollumpus and a scamp.”
Digory shakes his head and gestures as if his act of courage was no big deal. The staff ladies leave the kitchen after sifting spaghetti from the pot.
Nell catches movement out of the corner of her eye. She shoots a startled glance at the mural. The eyes of the freckled girl blink at her, look directly at her. A moment passes. The painted girl is two-dimensional once again.
“I can tell you anything, can’t I?” Nell watches Digory’s chalkboard for a moment. Then back at the mural. The chalkboard hangs on the wall near him. Digory puts his hand over his mouth. A breathy laugh escapes.
“Not because you don’t speak, of course. It’s because we’re friends. Real friends,” Nell says.
Digory pretends to lock his mouth shut. He tosses the imaginary key. Nell chuckles, then quickly straightens her face.
“I’m leaving Gray’s.” Digory stops rinsing. “I’m going to be with my mother.” Nell again glances at Digory’s chalkboard. She draws a long breath, “I want you to help me. You and Naveena.”
Digory reaches for his chalkboard.
“You’re wet. Your hands are wet,” says Nell. “Show me after.”
Digory nods.
“Hey, Dig. There are only a few plates left. Will you finish them for me? I need to meet with Naveena before we go milking.” Nell takes off her gloves.
Digory smiles and gives a thumb up.
“Thank you. I owe you.” Nell hangs the gloves near the sink and removes her apron. “Dig… do you think magic is real?” Nell folds her apron.
Digory raises an eyebrow, holds his wet and steaming hands in front of him, and glances at his chalkboard.
“Right. Maybe later we can talk. Thank you, again.” Nell places a hand on Digory’s shoulder, looks out the door for any lurking staff, and heads down the hallway in search of Naveena.
***
Digory Loving was eight years old when he awoke from a deep sleep, head on his mother’s lap, in the back of a black car he had never been in before. It was almost morning. The backseat smelled like clothes that hadn’t been put out to dry in time. It smelled like the time he had wet the bed and was too afraid to tell his mother.
In the twilight space between being fully awake and fully asleep, Digory felt his mother twiddle and shuffle beneath his heavy head. He heard his father say, ‘I’ll have him. Quickly, now,” and was hoisted over his father’s shoulder.
Digory wiped his eyes. His field of vision shifted to and fro with his father’s hurried and heavy steps. This house before him seemed like a giant on top of a hill. It stretched on and on making it impossible to peak around for clues to its mystery. Digory was a lost field mouse or wounded bird at the seat of the giant. His father’s dress shoes clunked up the stairs and onto a wooden deck. He set Digory down as an offering to be eaten; a repentance or petition. Digory was too confused, too tired to stand. He began to crawl like a baby to his mother.
“Is this the place?” Digory’s mother asked.
“You know it is,” his father said. Digory’s mother knelt to speak with him.
“You’re going to stay here with the Grays for a couple of weeks, Digory Loving.” His mother framed his plump face in her palms.
“But I don’t know the Grays. What if my tooth comes out and the fairy can’t find me? Where will you and pop be?” The boy asked.
“The Grays are like a grandmother and grandfather. They watch over children when mums and pops can’t. Only for a little while, you know,” his mother spoke softly.
The Grays. Digory had not known either set of his grandparents, but he imagined them to be any color other than gray. Maybe his grandmother was yellow like water lilies and his grandfather green like ocean water must be green. Not gray. Gray can be an awful color to ponder.
Three short honks from the black car.
“Alright then. Time to go,” Digory’s father knocked on the door with the meaty part of his fist. A slight woman with crepe skin opened the door. “This is D. Loving,” his father stood him up and placed both hands on Digory’s shoulders to present his boy. The lady hesitated. “Arrangements have been made,” he looked back at the car.
“Yes.” The lady took Digory by the arm.
“When will you come back?” Digory’s voice was uneasy and trailing. His mother turned away and walked quickly to the car, her hands shielding her face.
“Put that tooth beneath your pillow. Mind the Grays as you would mum and me. Don’t scuffle with the other children,” Digory’s father took a few steps back. “Don’t talk back or make a fuss. Go on in.”
“Other children? But when will you come again?” Digory began to cry.
“Don’t talk back,” his father commanded.
Digory’s father disappeared into the back seat of the black car. It sped away down the hill and out of sight.
***
Nell races to the girls’ dormitory in hopes to intercept Naveena. The halls of the Home are barren now. All doors on the way to the dormitory are shut. Classes are in session for the children who do not have morning chores.
“Little girl, little girl. Where are you off to?” Nell is startled by the unfamiliar voice of a woman.
“Just to the girls’ room,” Nell says. She does not turn to the voice.
“Stop, won’t you?” Asks the woman. Nell pretends not to hear and speeds up.
“Little girl, please. I don’t know my way,” the woman says. Nell stops. The woman catches up to her.
Sound of rubber soles on a newly waxed floor.
“Oh, you’re not in trouble. I have washing duty. I’m newly hired on and don’t know where to go.” Nell turns to the woman. “I think I’m the victim of some light hazing, you see. The other ladies have me going in circles.” The woman smiles. Her brow is light. She blows her blond bangs from her face.
“Clothes and linen washing is done near the kitchen. You just missed it, ma’am,” Nell speaks to the ground.
“Thank you. I’m lucky to have found you, you knowing your way around. What a pretty bow in your hair,” the woman says.
“Thank you.” Nell looks up from the ground. “Your constellations.”
“I beg your pardon?” The woman smiles.
“Your freckles, I mean. I meant your freckles. I like them. I’m sorry. I have to go now.” Nell dashes down the hall in hopes to meet Naveena.
As Nell approaches the dormitory, she notices the door is propped up by a bucket full of soapy water. Two of the house’s staff ladies are cleaning and chatting with one another.
I’ve never heard such a peculiar thing.
I’ve never seen such a strange child. The way she stares.
Nell peeks into the room and scans for Naveena, who is nowhere in sight. All the girls are gone. One of the women is cleaning the window. The other is sweeping under beds. The sweeping lady hits her head on the metal frame of Nell’s bunk.
“You- you startled me,” the woman says. “Are you lost?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I’m going out to the parlor now.” Nell turns to leave.
“I think you should stay right there.” The woman turns to her coworker at the window. The window washer raises an eyebrow, shakes her head, and returns to her work. “What do you think, Samantha?”
“Leave me out of it,” Samantha says as she continues to scrub the window.
“I’ll be late. I’ll be in trouble, ma’am,” Nell stammers. The woman motions for Nell to come to her. Nell acquiesces, hands folded in front of her.
“Rach,” the window washing woman says, “let her be.”
“Trouble, eh?” Rachel extends a closed hand to Nell.
“You’ve found candy wrappers. The candy’s not stolen. I’ve only forgotten to throw them away,” Nell says. The woman slowly opens her hand, revealing scraps of paper with Nell’s drawings on them.
“Who said anything about candy? You shouldn’t leave these lying around. They are supposed to stay in art class with Miss Stevens,” Rachel smiles. “Space ships are in great demand. You never know who would want to get their hands on your ideas.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
“You don’t want to be late. Off to the parlor. Take your sketches with you.” Rachel pats Nell on the shoulder and hands her the drawings. Nell runs out into the hallway.
“And let’s keep chocolatey hands off your whites from now on, okay miss?” the woman hollers.
*
Long grass whips at Nell’s shins as she races to the parlor. The wind picks up and pushes at Nell’s back. Her step quickens.
Naveena is setting the heifers in place.
“You’re early,” Naveena says.
“Yes, I didn’t go the long way today,” Nell says. She runs her fingers through her ponytail. “I looked for you first.”
“I’m only kidding. ‘cept now we don’t have any smell good. Lady cow here forgot to take a bath,” Naveena laughs and pats her cow on the behind.
“I need to show you something.” Nell pulls the drawings from her pockets. She runs her fingers through her hair again.
“Whoa! These look just like the ship my father told me about!” Naveena says, “You’ve got talent, Nell. That’s what they say out west. They say, ‘that kid’s got talent’. That’s what you have, and that’s what they would say about you.” Naveena speaks as fast as a pinwheel spins on a windy afternoon.
Nell folds the drawings and puts them back in her pocket. “We’re going to build it. The rocket your father told you about. We are going to build it and fly it to the moon so I can be with Phoebe, my mother.”
“Your mother is the goddess!” Naveena raises her hands above her head and spreads her fingers.
“It’s just as good if she is or isn’t. She’s there and I can go to her,” Nell says. “She’s stopped talking to me and she might be hurt.”
“We don’t know anything about building anything. How’s it gonna happen? The boys build birdhouses and dog houses, but none of them build rocket ships. Besides, they’d tell on us or break it before they’d help us.”
“Digory’s going to help,” says Nell. “Digory won’t tell nor will he break it.”
“Oh Nell, Dig is swell and all, but he don’t say anything. He don’t know how to get to space. He knows how to fight alright, but not how to get to the moon. And couldn’t tell you even if he did know.” Naveena folds her arms.
“You’ll see. We have to get my other drawings first. The drawings show the steps.” Nell says. She does not say maybe Diggory would speak with Naveena. Maybe he would speak if he were alone with Naveena on top of the Home; in the very hair of the giant where no one else would dare look for him.
The girls step out of the parlor and into the pasture. An overcast sky plays tricks on their perception of time. Rain clouds roll above in a fast-forwarded glitch. Nell places a hand on her head. Her shoulders hunch. Her face grimaces.
“Your bow is too tight.” Naveena undoes the ribbon atop Nell’s head. Her locks fall onto arched shoulders. She gazes at the clouds and undoes her apron. Naveena’s kindness lingers on Nell like the aroma of sweet olive leaves. Thunder grumbles somewhere far away.
“It’s like a big stomach growling. Like it’s hungry for breakfast,” Nell says. She squints and shades her eyes despite the dim morning light. She clenches her teeth and rubs her jaw.
“I’m hungry for breakfast. We should get your drawings and get back to milking before it starts raining. What would happen if the drawings got wet? Hey, will we be denied breakfast if we aren’t done with chores on time? Can’t we build the ship from your memory anyway? Some children complain that meals are always the same here. Don’t they know it could be worse? Leaving your drawings outside was not a good plan, Nell, it wasn’t.”
Nell has walked ahead of Naveena, who now speaks with her hands as much as her words, assuming Nell has stuck around for the spectacle.
“Wait up!” Naveena says. She trots along to catch up with Nell.
*
Upstairs is the place where Mr. Gray listens to Chopin. Upstairs is where Mrs. Gray smokes cigarillos near the small, moss-covered window in her walk-in wardrobe. Upstairs is a place where no child goes, save the night terror laden Naveena. Upstairs in a house so old, no one remembers who built it or why. Mr. and Mrs. Gray speak with one another as a storm rolls in.
“Being around the girl will do her some good,” Miss Gray exhales a cloud of smoke.
“Rose, my dear. You say being around the girl will do the woman some good. I say it will harm the child.” Mr. Gray speaks with his hands on his hips. He turns his head to avoid the lingering smoke. “We’ve never had a former resident come back to work here. It’s unprecedented.”
“My heart breaks. For what end does this place serve? Are we here to instruct children on manners and maths only to have them kicked out when they’ve reached the age? Kicked out and left to be gobbled up by the great unknown? My heart breaks, Robert.” Rose Gray faces a tall, clouded mirror. “The woman is here now. As a child, what she did, how she was, we don’t know, do we? We were not her caretakers then. This was before we were the proprietors of this place.”
“Your heart is the source of your suffering. Indeed, your heart is the space for many precious things I cannot live without, but it is also home to your beloved anguish. We must protect the children above all else. She stays away from them all. Not just the one. There will be no exception.” Robert Gray feels the stubble of his neck. He needs to shave.
Mr. Gray walks to the window. His steps are proud. He draws the curtain. From the second floor of the Home, he can see the horizon beyond the horizon. He can see the red clay pit outside the parameters of his property. A pit so deep the bottom appears black to him. He can see children fleeing the coming rain. He hears their ruckus downstairs. Their shoes being kicked off kicked off.
“On another matter, it’s time Naveena assimilates,” Mr. Gray says.
“She will scream all night,” Mrs. Gray says as she exhales another cloud.
“She has friends now. See for yourself.” Mr. Gray gestures for Mrs. Gray. Mrs. Gray stubs out her tiny cigar. Together they witness Nell and Naveena sneaking, as it were, to the fence line. “I think Nell will do some good for the girl, to use your words. Alicia will help. You know how she is.”
*
Nell and Naveena approach the tree under which Nell’s rocket ship blueprints are hidden. Nell scans three-sixty for spies; for curious kids looking to cause trouble. Once she is sure she and Naveena are alone, she kneels and begins to uncover her drawings. Naveena follows suit.
“I drew these before you told me about the man in the moon. I drew them,” Nell inhales slowly, “because Diggory told me to.” Nell maintains her gaze, imploring Naveena’s eyes.
“Diggory doesn’t tell anyone anything. We’ve been over this. Why are you fooling me?” Naveena tosses some leaves and dirt aside.
“His chalkboard. I see things on it. I read things from it that come true. Lots of things. You coming to the Home, for one. And months ago, in art class, Miss Stevens had us cutting out shapes from colored paper to make houses and people. I looked across the table and there it was, Dig’s blackboard said, ‘Come to me. Draw a spaceship and make it real.’ It scared me. My scissors slipped and I cut myself badly. See?” Nell opens her hand revealing a fresh white scar that goes all the way across her palm. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“It told you I was coming, just like the bird?” Naveena hesitates, “I didn’t see the bird in the window at breakfast.” Nell closes her hand and sighs.
“Yes, just like the bird. Dig’s blackboard said the bird was there and there it was. I saw it. You don’t believe me because you didn’t see it,” Nell says.
“I didn’t see it, but I believe you saw it.” Naveena takes Nell’s hand and opens it. She traces the scar with her pinky and places Nell’s palm against her cheek. “I believe you.”
“The day before you showed up his board said ‘the new one is a sparrow’. I thought it may have been about the bird at the window. I didn’t know it was about you, but now I do. You knew about the rocket and I believe you can fly it. You are the sparrow,” Nell says. She places her other palm on Naveena’s cheek. “I want to make it come true. I want to make it a real thing,” Nell says. She folds the drawings and secures them in her pocket with the rest. The girls make their way back to the Home just before the sky bursts with water.
***
Saturday morning is here. Glorious Saturday. The Home is skinny on these precious days. The staff is reduced to the essential workers, some of whom live in the quarters of the back wing.
On Saturdays like this, there are few children inside the Home. There are unexplored hills slick with mud to be tumbled down. There are funny frog sounds out by the water to be investigated. Tadpoles need catching. Salamanders need chasing. Boys need to fight and girls need to run and to play pretend.
Mrs. Gray lets the children sleep in on Saturdays. However, breakfast is served at seven sharp and if a seat at the table is missing a mouth, that mouth will not be fed until noontime. This morning there are three seats missing mouths: those of Nell, Naveena, and Digory. Alicia and Donald converse with cheeks stuffed like chipmunks.
“He’s afraid of you, that Digory. He’s gotta be. Never seen him skip a meal before,” Alicia says. “You woulda beat him had Mr. Gee Willikers not stopped the fight.” Alicia points her thumb down the table where Mr. Gray currently sits.
Donald squeezes his fork and grinds the handle end across the table in front of him. His knuckles are white. “I didn’t want to beat him.”
Alicia raises an eyebrow. “Covert, Don. I like it,” Alicia says. She continues to eat.
“Yeah, co- covert or whatever.” Donald swallows and tosses his fork on his empty plate.
“It means you did it on purpose to trick him,” Alicia says.
“I know what it means,” Donald says. He leans toward Alicia. “I know what it means.”
“Alright, gee, you’re a scholar, I get it.” Alicia shoves Donald’s shoulder.
“I’m gonna make him pay,” Donald whispers. “I’ll make everyone in this damn flophouse pay for laughing at me.”
“Don’t get any ideas, Donny. I was just egging on the fight,” Alicia says. “The excitement of it, you know. I was rooting for you, even.” Alicia waits a beat and co*cks her head to the side. “Now, the new girl, she was laughin’ hard. She thinks she’s better. She sleeps in the Gray’s bed and she thinks she can have Nell all to herself. She’s got Nell all confused.”
“Yeah, her, too,” Donald says.
“What are ya gonna do about it, Donny-boy?” Alicia winks at Donald and stuffs another bite into her chipmunk mouth.
*
“We’re going to the dump yard. It has to be today.” Nell and Naveena are in the boys’ room; a place where all girls fear to tread. “That’s where we’ll find the parts,” Nell says to Digory.
The boys’ room is much like the girls’ room. The sprawling floor, the single window, the walls lined with bunks. Only these bunks are older and in poorer shape. They are rusted and unmade. The floor is unwaxed and streaked with black marks.
“I want you to help us. I believe you know how to build the rocket ship. My mother told me you could. Look,” Nell shows Digory her drawings, “this is what we will build. You have to help us.”
Digory’s face contorts. He quickly scribbles “Leaving? No,” on his chalkboard.
“It’s magic, Dig.” Naveena steps between Nell and Digory. She pauses. “Nell’s mom is a goddess. Don’t you know that? She talks with Nell from the moon, only she’s stopped talking. She sent messages to Nell through your chalkboard. Do you know how special that is, Dig? Did you know you’re an accessory to magic? It’s all planned out. You should help us. Nell will be gone, yes, but wouldn’t you be gone too if your parents asked you to go to them? You’ll build the ship and I’ll fly it. Oh, and don’t you worry about me. I’ll come right back. I’ve got no place in the forest on the moon. My place is here with you.”
Digory wipes the white chalk from his board. He thinks a moment, and writes, “Crazy but ok. Be with Mom.”
Naveena jumps. Both girls envelope Digory whose face has turned red.
*
The back wing of the Home, much like the Home itself, is divided into a women’s side and a men’s side with common areas in the front. The back door opens to a vast vegetable garden. A path through the garden leads to a large, simple chapel where Sunday services are held. On Saturdays, however, the chapel is where the staff like to drink, play cards, and pick banjos. Samantha, Rachel, and the new woman sit at a pew together. Others play Gin Rummy and drink from bottles near the altar.
“I’ve never seen anyone smoke in a church before,” the new woman says “or drink, or anything other than praising the Lord.”
“Praising the Lord is for tomorrow. Sin on Saturday, forgiven on the Sabbath. Keeps us sane,” Rachel says. “Which is hard to do, working around these rambunctious children.” Rachel unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse and fans her face.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the new woman shuffles in the pew. She spots a hymnal in front of her and thumbs through it.
“Oh, we know, Bea, we know. You must think all the children here are hapless orphans. You must think they’re all poor unfortunates. Don’t be deceived. Don’t be foolish. They’re defects, every last one of them. Did you know there’s one who burnt her house down killing her folks just because her dad wouldn’t play with her?” Samantha says.
“That is not so. It can’t be. They aren’t all bad,” Bea says. Bea reads to herself from the hymnal: When sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well with my Soul.
“You’ll see. Why do you think the Grays don’t want you around the kids? Those little demons would rather bite the breast than take the milk,” Rachel says.
“You don’t understand, I-“
“I do understand. I understand you need a drink.” Bea slaps the hymnal closed. Rachel tries to hand her a flask. “Go on. We know why you’re here. It’s the same reason we’re all here. You don’t get to live in the back wing of the Home by being a saint.” Rachel again offers the flask.
“Drink up! It’s Saturday,” a man from the front of the chapel hollers. “You’re making us uncomfortable, dolly.” Laughter. Rachel edges the flask towards Bea. Bea looks at Rachel’s yellowed hands, her chipped fingernails. Then, she notices the stick and poke tattoo on the man’s neck as he draws upon his cigarette and lays down a card.
“I’m on the mend.” Bea raises her hand, skinny fingers extended in protest. Hard lines in her palm. Crooked smile. She blows her bangs from her face. Samantha takes the flask from Rachel and claims the last gulp for herself.
“You don’t drink. You don’t play cards. Can’t cook for anything. You’re slow with the wash. What do you do ‘cept have all them freckles on your face?” Rachel laughs.
“I can cook just fine.” Bea’s eyes narrow. The wounded Christ on the cross weeps from the pulpit, his crown of thorns head hangs low. “I used to paint when I was little.” She looks at the barren walls and the cheerless pyramid ceiling. “I’d like to do that again. I think I will now.” Bea exhales, places the hymnal back into its cubby, and swiftly exits the chapel. The door creaks and slowly closes behind her.
*
Nell, Naveena, and Digory venture beyond the field and over rolling hills past groups of children playing tag. The trio runs at a full clip.
“How do you know where the dump is?” Naveena asks.
“I follow my nose!” Nell takes sweet olive leaves from her blouse and smiles widely. “It doesn’t smell so fantastic in the pit.”
“I mean it. What if we get lost? What if we go so far that we don’t know our way back? What if we happen upon a pack of wild and hungry animals that don’t know anything about the moon or magic?” Naveena takes Nell by the hand and slows their pace.
“I’ve been there before. Before you came to the Home. The dump is just beyond this last hill and to the left at a dead oak tree. Then just a short walk until you see red clay. It’s called a dump, but that’s a strange thing to call such a place.” Nell begins to jog again. Digory huffs. Naveena sprints forward. “It’s a wonderful place full of treasure. There’s magic there. Even the animals know it.”
“It’s like the Grand Canyon; a wide and deep hole. The river runs near it. It’s got rusted cars and bits of machinery and parts of this and that. Mostly from the old factory, I think,” Nell says.
Our trio has strayed so far from the Home, they may as well be in another country. Gangs of feral cats scatter from their path. The only sounds are those of hand-me-down shoes hitting the dirt and of Digory’s failing breath. The children approach the dead oak tree. Digory stops in his tracks and coughs loudly, insisting they stop to rest. A crow taunts them from a dead oak branch.
“We can’t wait for long. We have so much to do and it will be lunchtime and then lights out before we know it. We will need to finish tomorrow morning so Naveena and I can fly tomorrow night.” Nell paces left and right. Digory and Naveena sit cross-legged, knee to knee beneath the dead oak tree. The blackbird squawks incessantly from a branch above. “It’s only another few minutes that way.” Nell points to her left. The bird takes off in that direction. A light breeze jostles Nell’s hair.
*
Bea enters the back wing. She knocks on doors. She glances around corners. She calls ‘hello’ in a worried falsetto. Bea is all alone in the back pocket of a giant. She hears the floor creak and is startled, only to realize it is her own steps that have shaken her. She blows her bangs from her face and makes her way to the hall of classrooms.
Room three. Art class. Bea runs her fingers over the name placard on the door. Miss Stevens. She pushes the door open. The weight of it causes her to stumble.
The closet. That’s where the paints were kept.
Bea walks across the room between tiny desks to the closet. Her heart pounds. She swallows hard. She blows her bangs from her face. Small buckets of paint are stacked neatly atop one another. Paintbrushes of varying sizes and shapes are arranged in several cups. She grabs a few buckets of paint and balances them surely against her body. She secures brushes with the other hand. Bea shuffles out of the art room and hurries down the hallway. She sways side to side to keep the buckets balanced.
“I can give you a hand with that!” a man shouts down the hallway as Bea disappears around a corner.
“No, thank you! I’m all set!” Bea nearly loses her footing.
The kitchen. It’s empty, thank God.
Water pipes moan in the walls of the kitchen. The rush of the water reminds Bea of the sound of blood flowing through a body; the kind of sound blood makes in your head when you’ve been running for your life or after making love. She walks to the mural and sets down the brushes and buckets. She flips the switch. A horrible fluorescent presence invades the space. Bea winces and cuts the light.
Before Bea is the faded and washed-out mural painted some time ago. Steam and grease from boiling pots and grimy hands have cloaked its former brilliance. Bea’s eyes adjust to the dim light. She grabs the largest brush and uses its handle to pry open a bucket of paint. She dips the hairs of the brush into the bucket.
Bea spends a few quiet moments looking over the multitudes in the mural. She stops on a familiar freckled face. An image so faded it couldn’t be noticed by anyone else. Swollen belly. Eyebrows slanted in worry behind blond bangs. Now the eyes of the painted elderly woman catch her attention. She traces with her finger the painted woman’s hand that covers her heart.
Hello. There you are. I have missed you so much.
***
Sunday is here. Sundays are not as sleepy as Saturdays at Gray’s Home for Unfortunate Children. Sunday is when childless couples from around the state come to play with the children in the flower field. Red rover, tag, hide and find; each man and woman test the children for compatibility and peculiarities. Often a child of two or three years of age is taken away. Never are the older orphans adopted.
Sundays are also for worship in the chapel. A rotary of young ministers takes turns sharing the good news to the townsfolk, orphans, and staff of the Home. Good Ben now takes the helm.
The people are packed shoulder to shoulder in the old chapel this morning. A light breeze glides through and slowly opens the vestibule door much to the relief of the ladies and gentlemen who are dressed in layers of their Sunday best.
“The Lord has blessed us with some relief from the heat,” Good Ben, the fresh-faced minister says from the pulpit. The ladies whose tinted lips drew upon bottles of bourbon the day before now giggle and pucker for Good Ben.
Alicia and Donald have strategically taken pews directly behind our trio. Alicia rolls her eyes and mimics Good Ben’s sloppy hand gestures. She pokes fun at his admirers, the mewing lionesses at the front of the chapel. Donald’s forehead goes red as he fights back laughter. Donald winds up his middle finger and thumb. He releases a solid thump on Digory’s ear. Digory turns and bats the attack away.
“Ignore him, Digs. If we get into trouble, we won’t make it to the pit today,” Naveena whispers. Digory huffs and straightens his shirt. Donald grins and lifts an eyebrow. Nell bites her bottom lip. “We’ve got everything together. Trust me, I want to wallop Donald as much as you want to.”
Naveena, Nell, and Digory sit together close to the exit. They know better than to stir up commotion during the service, so details of today’s build have been discussed prior. They are to leave right after the call to the altar. They are to skip breakfast, a detail that poor Digory did not find at all useful or needful. They are to forgo playing with potential parents today. Their great adventure lies in the clay pit down by the old factory beyond the boundaries of Mr. and Mrs. Gray’s property; a place no orphan is permitted.
After his sermon and after much singing, Good Ben makes a plea for his sheep to come to the altar. A few raise their hands while every head is bowed. Those few enter the aisle and walk to the altar to ask the Lord into their hearts. After a few minutes of tears and jubilation, our trio assumes their safety and uses the commotion as a blanket for their departure. Donald and Alicia follow at a distance.
Our trio and their antagonists are long on the trek to the red clay pit outside the boundaries of the Home. Rose and Robert Gray stand at the chapel’s exit with Good Ben. Ben’s sheep spill out from the chapel into the vast vegetable garden that surrounds the great old building. The Home casts a shadow over handshakes and pleasantries.
“Mr. Gray,” Miss Stevens, dressed in a thin floral pattern and a straw hat, struggles with making her way through the multitude of the saved and the sinful. “Mr. Gray, if I could have a moment. There’s been a theft.” A tall, fat man occupies Robert Gray’s attention. “Pardon me, if you will.” Miss Stevens yanks the man to the side by the shoulder. He scoffs.
“Miss Stevens.” Mr. Gray tips his hat. “What an impressive display of dominance.”
“Miss Stevens.” Mrs. Gray curtsies.
“H-happy S-Sunday, M-Miss Stevens,” Good Ben stammers.
“There’s been a theft,” Miss Stevens says.
“A theft?” Mrs. Gray asks.
“Well, what was stolen, Miss Stevens?” Asks Mr. Gray.
“Paint and brushes. Right out of my closet they were taken. And the thief, the thief painted over the mural,” Miss Stevens says.
“The thief ruined the mural? Our beloved mural in the kitchen?” Mrs. Gray places a hand on her cheek.
“Not exactly ruined, Mrs. Gray. Come and see,” says Miss Stevens.
*
“It will be finished today, won’t it, Dig?” Nell stands sandwiched between Naveena and Digory at the edge of the red clay pit. Before them in the middle of the canyon is yesterday’s work; their collection of gears and steel rods, of old window panes and motorcar engines. Digory takes a look at Nell’s drawings and then at the pieces in the pit. He smiles and gives a thumbs up. Nell skips down the edge and toward the rocket ship parts. Naveena and Digory follow.
“We should move the parts to the edge near the drop.” Naveena picks up a rubber hose and sets it down. She kicks a tire. “The ship’s gonna be awfully heavy, isn’t it? And to push it to the top near the cliff, that’ll be too hard. It’s one thing to fly it, it’s another to push it up this slippery hill.”
Nell agrees. The children move the parts to the edge near the cliff and begin to assemble the rocket ship under Digory’s supervision. In the blood-colored mud on the edge of the cliff, our trio attaches wheels to barrels and glass panes to metal frames until each part has found its partner.
Digory taps Nell on her shoulder. He motions for her to enter the ship. Then, he guides Naveena to the pilot’s seat, his hand soft on her tricep.
“So, this is it. It’s a good rocket ship, Dig. You did good,” Naveena says with a smile. She grasps the steering wheel in front of her. She wipes mud from the inside of the windshield.
“It looks good to go to me. What do you think, Digory? There is a full moon tonight. Will we be ready to fly by then?” Nell runs her fingers over the row of buttons in front of her.
*
The kitchen. A light switch is flipped.
“No. Turn it off immediately. Turn off the light.” Robert Gray strikes a match and lights a lantern. He holds the lantern to the painted wall and examines its details. He touches a bit of the painted sky. It is still tacky, nearly wet.
“Mr. Gray,” Miss Stevens begins. Robert raises a finger. The crowd behind him anticipates, their breath shallow.
Robert moves the lantern slowly left to right across the mural. Rose strikes her own match and lights a second lamp.
“Robert?” Rose whispers.
“It is brilliant,” Robert says to his wife. He turns to the people behind him. “It’s brilliant!” The lamp casts shadows over the crowd. “Come forth you maestro of color, you genius of the painted person!” The people inspect one another. Was it you? No, not me. Certainly you?
“Claim this beauty. Come on. Your theft is forgiven. Who is it?” Mr. Gray holds his lamp above the astonished people.
Bea allows the crowd around her to obscure her as a person of interest. She notices a patch of blue paint on her index finger. She quickly rubs it away.
She dreamed of them. She drew them and gave them names. That’s what makes a thing real.
*
Donald and Alicia watch our trio move in and out of their newly built rocket ship from a heaping pile of rubbish.
“What the hell is that? Looks like a bunch of garbage.” Donald asks. His mouth is grim. His hands are fists.
“Hey, Don, we’ve waited all day already. That’s long enough, don’cha think?” Alicia plops down. Her hands rest atop her head. “You gonna fight Mute Boy, or not? You’re okay and all, but I’m ready to go back,” Alicia complains.
“Those losers spent all this time settin’ garbage on top of garbage callin’ it a damned spaceship. Applesauce. Horsefeathers,” Donald says.
“Hey, who cares what they built. Are you gonna pop Digs, or aren’t ‘cha?” Alicia throws a rock. It lands on something metallic. PING.
“Who’s there?” Naveena spins around in the pilot’s seat.
“Good goin’. No time to waste now!” Donald darts towards the rocket ship from his hiding place. He is intercepted by Digory.
“I’ll break you first, then I’ll bump off your jalopy. How’s that?” Donald shoves Digory. Digory slips. Donald tumbles on top. The boys roll in the red clay mud and trade blows. Donald stands and starts to move toward the rocket ship. Digory trips him. Donald gets up again and spits out a mouthful of red. “That’s it. I’m crushing this garbage!” Donald takes off to destroy the rocket ship.
“We have to go now.” Nell turns to her pilot.
“The moon. It isn’t out yet. It’s still daylight!” Naveena says. Nell sighs.
Alicia tackles Donald.
“You didn’t say nothin’ about breaking their ship. You was supposed to fight Dig, not trash the ship!” Donald and Alicia scramble. Digory joins Alicia in pinning Donald. All three are wet with red.
“It’s now, or never. Get out and help me push. Please, Naveena,” Nell says. The two girls get out of the co*ckpit and roll the rocket faster and faster to the edge of the cliff.
“Okay, now!” Naveena says as the rocket meets the edge. The girls hop back into the spacecraft just before it disappears over the edge of the cliff.
Alicia belts a scream.
“Hey, hey, it wasn’t supposed to go like that. I was only tryna scare ‘em!” Donald begins to sob.
Digory clears mud from his face and struggles to stand.
***
Early Monday morning. The sun has yet to shine. Bea packs her few belongings in the dark and has set her mind to leaving Gray’s Home for Unfortunate Children before she can be found out as the celebrated vandal.
“I didn’t peg you as a quitter,” Rachel says from her cot.
“I’m not,” Bea says.
“Leaving, quitting, it’s all the same,” Rachel says.
Bea moves a bottle from beneath her pillow and places it in her bag. “You know, I’ve had this bottle since before I started here. God willing, I’ll have it long after,” Bea says.
“You keep a bottle of booze with you? Sober, Bea? You must enjoy the temptation,” Rachel says.
“It keeps me strong.” Bea folds a blouse and puts it on top of the bottle in her bag. “I should have never come here,” she pauses, “I’m sorry for what I am.” Bea extinguishes her candle and exits the back wing.
*
The halls are alive with Monday morning’s bustle. Dozens of shiny little heads check the chalkboard for today’s chore delegations. Little feet race to latrines and the day’s work is begun.
Nell and Naveena now rest in the girls’ dormitory. Nell occupies her favorite spot nearest the window. Naveena lounges below. Her crossed legs bounce.
“The nurse said we have to wear these slings for a whole two weeks and we have to stay in bed. I bet we don’t have to stay in bed. I can milk cows with one arm just fine. She doesn’t know,” Naveena says.
“You’re right. We can pick flowers and vegetables with one arm, too.” Nell flips to her side and smiles. “You slept in the girls’ room last night and didn’t cry a drop.”
“That’s because I already told you I’m not a baby.” Naveena pushes the bunk above her, bumping Nell. “Hey Nell, why didn’t we fly yesterday?” Naveena asks.
“We did fly, oh yes, we did. It was not a very long flight though, Naveena. Not long at all!” The girls erupt in laughter.
THUMP. GASP! A stone hits the window. THUMP. Nell opens the curtains.
“It’s Digory! He’s waving for us to come out,” Nell says. She scans the room for others. “Let’s do it. Let’s go out the window and see what Digory wants.” The two girls open the window and slowly climb out.
Digory motions for them to wait just outside the window on the balcony. He climbs to meet them.
“Hello, fellow adventurer!” Naveena says.
Nell grabs Digory’s shirt and fluffs it mildly. “Where’s your board? Did you lose it in the fight yesterday? It can be retrieved.” Nell says. Digory shakes his head and motions for the girls to follow him to the roof.
“I had better not. You two go. I have someone to speak with.” Nell smiles. The early morning light sets a glow to her hair. She blows her bangs away from her face. Digory climbs to the roof and lifts Naveena to meet him.
*
Nell approaches a sweet olive tree that rests on the fence line of the Home for Unfortunate Children. She places a hand on its trunk and breathes deeply. She breathes in the notes of Chopin. She breathes in the rhythm of Mrs. Gray’s morning voice. She breathes in the rapid-fire speech of her new friend, Naveena. She breathes in the green around her. She exhales her longing and her pining. The aroma of the sweet olive tree circles her. It completes her.
Nell reaches into her arm sling and pulls from it a piece of paper. On it is drawn a freckled woman and a girl, hand in hand. She kisses the drawing and buries it beneath the sweet olive tree.
5/18/22
New Orleans, Louisiana
4:04 PM
