Hands spun and pinned the girl up against the old door, her back cushioned by the bag.
The voice wasn’t tired anymore, a challenging gruffness replacing it. “What did you just say?” Those hands gripped her shoulders tightly.
Davina was too shocked to spit out an answer, the lack of sleep beginning to pull at her mind’s edges. All she could do was stare up wide-eyed at where the voice came from.
“Answer me kid.” The voice wavered slightly and what she had first interpreted as anger was starting to dip into desperation.
The hands on her shoulders never moved as she took a deep breath and slowly said “Annie is collecting her favor” as clearly as she had been rehearsing all morning. After a moment that felt like days, the hands loosened their grip on her cloak and they took a step back away from her. Peeling herself off of the door she asked, “are you Robert Stokes?”
“Who sent you?”
Davina could see she wasn’t going to be leading this conversation, so she did what the sisters always taught her to do, obey. “Siste- I ugh, Anne. She said you’d-”
“What kind of sick joke is this?” Had it not been for the dot of spit that landed on her forehead she would have never known that the angry voice had gotten closer. They moved so silently that her own breathing had covered up any sound they made. Or perhaps she was just breathing loudly?
“J-joke? No! I-no, I was told to come here.” Was she talking too fast? She felt like she was talking too fast. “We, I- here!” Her choppy words were getting her nowhere so shaky hands fumbled with the silver chain, and not-so-gently yanked it over her head and through tangled hair. She held it in front of her, hoping the voice could see.
Rough warm fingers took the locket from her hand and she heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Where did you get this?” That aggressive edge wavered again.
He can see that? I can't even see my hand. Her mind played with the impossible scenario that the person before her was part raccoon. As tired as her brain was it was able to recall a rather useless fact her tutor had told her when she was seven.
“Hey,” he snapped his fingers. “Answer me dammit. Where did you get this?”
Right, he did ask that. Wanting nothing more than to get off her sore feet and collapse on something soft, she spoke the one word that would hopefully answer all of his questions. “Anne.”
The whispered name hung in the air like a dense fog. No one spoke. All she could hear was the soft clinking of the chain he was maybe fiddling with in his hands.
“I don’t know how you came by this, or what you’re trying to pull, but this story of yours ain't possible.”
Ah, they had prepared for this. Sliding the bag towards the front of her body, she dug her fingers around it’s depths until they curled around the folded letter. “Here.” Once again she held it out before her like a peace offering, and again those deft fingers grabbed it from the black void between them.
This time however she heard him shuffle away from her and after a moment the soft glow of a lantern lit the room.
He wasn’t what she imagined. In her mind the Robert she was going to be meeting had the same face as the one in the locket, young, radiating warmth, and smiling. The man before her, who’s tired eyes scanned the letter, would have probably broken the sister’s heart. Whatever light was once in those eyes had gone out some time ago, and his face was covered with time. Deep frown and worry lines were carved into his face, and a puckered scar adorned the top of his right cheek. Once golden hair was flecked with glittery strands of white hair, and they had found their way into his bushy beard.
Those tired eyes flicked up to meet hers, and he wordlessly held out the letter. When she didn’t immediately move he shook it gently and bobbed his head towards it.
Sore feet carried her closer without her telling them too. Her hands grasped the crackling parchment and it took her mind a minute to realize what it was reading. She recognized the sister’s small cramped handwriting, and relaxed a little at its familiarity.
Bobby,
There is so much I wish I could tell you. So much that has happened since I last laid eyes on you. So much that has happened since I received your last letter, and now I’ve finally found a way to send one back. Take care of the kid. She’s been my family while I’ve been away, and now she’ll be yours. Knowing you, another grey hair just sprouted from reading that, but don’t fret my love. You’ll come to love her just as I have. I ask that you keep those watchful eyes over her, there’s much of the outside world she has yet to learn of.
If the neighbors ask, tell them your Lori has come home and that I have passed on. Grim I know, but they won’t press on after a story like that. I miss her everyday, you know. Everyday.
Know that thoughts of you and our sweet girl were the only things that got me through. I’ll love you always.
Love,
Annie
P.S. Let her read this, she’s rather nosey that one.
Be safe D-SZ
197Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEKtvAYhnPM
Davina DeMal and Robert Stokes didn’t sleep that night. Their minds darting from thoughts of the woman they both loved, unanswerable questions, and a possible future. They sat at a cluttered table, the letter laid out between them. Pale light from the morning Bridlo skies slowly crept in, filling the room with a hazey beige light from the dirty windows.
Running a hand down his face Robert finally took in the girl’s appearance. He guessed her hair was curly, but it hung in fluffy clumps around her head, and he could have sworn there was a branch or two stuck in it. Perhaps it was the dirt smudged on her face that she had clearly tried to wipe off, or the mud she had tracked in, but she smelled of earth. Sadness and confusion that had masked themselves as anger ebbed away when he got a good look at her face. She was staring at the letter, or maybe she had been an hour ago, but it had been awhile since she had last blinked. The darkening rings under her eyes concerned a side of him he had not dealt with in years.
“Why don’t you get some sleep, kid.” She had hazel eyes. “We could talk about this once we’ve both rested a bit.” He stood and gestured for her to follow.
Davina nodded once, too tired to really form sentences. She’d stared at that piece of paper for too long, eyes burning a little every time she blinked. Though she had no idea how to do it, she was convinced she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open a few times while she sat there. Her body not fully trusting the thought of being alone with an outsider, even if everything she knew about them was wrong. The idea of sleep had her sluggish mind practically giddy.
He led her up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, and opened one of the last doors on the right side.
“It ain’t much, but there’s a bed. I’m the first door next to the stairs if ya need anythin’.” With that, he turned and silently padded down the hall.
She didn’t watch him go, too tired to even turn her head. Her eyes found a narrow bed and that was all she cared about. She flopped face-first onto the bed, her bag still strung across her back. She hadn’t slept since the night before the ceremony, and she had never known a longer two days in her whole life. Thankfully her dreams were empty of shadow men.
⟴
The smell of something wonderful woke her up.
She couldn’t smell the kitchen all the way across the grounds in her unit, so what was- it was her stiff muscles that reminded her of where she was. The act of sitting up made her back and legs scream in discomfort. Slipping the knapsack off from her shoulders, she could still feel the outline of it pressing into her sleepy spine. She let the bag fall onto the bed and rolled her shoulders a few times, not liking the twinge of stiffness that was still present. Sweet sun she didn’t want to look at her feet. They throbbed in time with her heart, and she grimaced at how dirty they were.
She hadn’t noticed it last night, or was it morning, but the bed she’d collapsed onto had dark blue sheets with small boats decorating the border. She tried to brush off the bits of dirt she’d transferred onto them, but it seemed like the mud also enjoyed its cozy slumber. Although maybe night wasn’t the right word. She’d climbed the stairs shortly after sunrise and looking out the one window in the room she could tell it was still light out. Craning her neck she peered out the window, not really wanting to stand up quite yet. The window had a good view of the docks and of the sea beyond. She could vaguely hear the sound of people milling about on the streets below, but wasn’t curious enough to stand up and look down at them.
The room around her was cozy, she decided. Though it was smaller than her unit, it was inviting and looked somewhat lived in. The walls were made of a pale smooth wood, and looked brighter thanks to the light from the window. A dark wardrobe and chest had been pushed to the far corner, and she wondered if she could put the clothes Sister Zinnia had packed in there. The floors were a rich inky color that was softened by a small cream colored rug in the center of the room.
That wonderful smell wafted through the room again and the twinge of hollow pain from her stomach outweighed her desire to stay in bed. Planting her feet on the carpeted floor was more painful than she’d expected it to be. Despite the plush cream colored cushion underfoot, agony shot up her legs like fire. It was almost as bad as the time she had actually burned the side of her palm while cooking as a teenager. The smallest movement back then had felt like her skin was being torn in two, and as it healed the intense itchiness and sting had taken weeks to go away. She decided to eat whatever that smokey and almost caramel smell was, then she’d finally look at the bottom of her feet.
Walking downstairs was harder than she would have liked. Hoping that her feet would eventually go numb from the pain she slowly shuffled down the hall, trying to distract herself with the unfamiliar furnishings around her. The walls held up framed photographs every few feet, and completely fascinated her. There was a large portrait of Sister Zinnia, or Anne as she mentally corrected herself, she couldn’t have been older than Davina was now. Younger Anne had those same warm eyes and thin nose, but there was an air of..softness that time (or probably the shrine) had taken from her. The spiky brown and gray hair she had seen only once had hung in loose waves to the tops of her shoulders at some point. The familiar lines near her eyes were gone, her skin smooth and pink. The camera had caught her just turning away, but a hint of a playful smile could still be seen, along with the sparkly glint of the silver chain around her neck.
Never in all her years did she know there was a photo like this, of a young and lively version of someone she loved, forever frozen in time.
The other photos on the walls all had the sister in them, she noted. The one immediately next to her portrait was of Anne and a young man that she assumed was Robert. It was a grainy photo but she did see traces of the man she spent hours sitting across from in the young face. The sloped nose was still the same, and so was the oval shape of his face, but that was about it. Sure the hair in the photo was shaggy and messy looking, which the current Robert had, but younger Robert looked wild in a free way, older Robert looked wild in a I’ve-given-up kind of way.
There were photos of them in front of the house, photos of them in a small rowboat, gardening together, and laughing as they smeared dirt on one another. Older versions of them stood alongside people she did not know, smiled next to a bonfire, and one showed them sitting on a comfy-looking couch with a small child on their laps. She searched the rest of the frames as she worked her way down the hall but there were no other traces of the smiling infant anywhere. The sad reality of the child’s fate washed over her.
Stairs were tricky. Each one sent jarring vibrations up her foot and through her sore muscles, she almost gave up after the fourth one. But that mouthwatering smell was going to be her prize once she finished, she told herself. Otherwise she was simply going to just lay on the floor and groan for a bit. Yeah, she liked that plan.
It had been dark when she first entered 1229 Bell st, but the light coming through the dirty windows illuminated just how messy it was. There was a beautiful white brick fireplace that was almost hidden from view by the sheer amount of books, sheets of paper, boxes, and metal dishes that were piled on the table in front of it. Two chairs sat around the mess, but they were covered in articles of clothing, and more books to Davina’s delight. Along the walls were shelves crammed with old books, plants that had outgrown their pots, a dead clock, dusty picture frames, and cups filled with pens, scissors, and other silver instruments. It was absolute chaos and she loved it!
The sisters never tolerated clutter or disarray. Entire days had been dedicated to cleaning the shrine from floor to ceiling. You’d be amazed at how fast the cobwebs accumulated.
Robert’s voice cut through her inspection of the house, “is that you kid?” He didn’t sound very confident, and Davina guessed he didn’t like being unsure of things.
“Yes.” She added a “good morning” to be polite, but didn’t know what else to say as she entered the kitchen.
He grunted back, and she assumed that was his version of good morning. His back was to her and his hands were moving back and forth between two pans on top of the stove, he seemed comfortable in the kitchen. “I’m surprised you’re awake. Thought you’d be sleepin’ until tomorrow.”
“Is it not tomorrow?”
He chuckled softly, “no. It's only two, so you’ve slept for about eleven hours.” When she didn’t reply he waved her off towards the dining room. “Why don’t you go sit? I’ll fix us somethin’ to eat and then we’ll talk.”
Plopping into the chair she sat in last night, feet humming in satisfaction, she studied the kitchen from where she was. The room was cluttered, yet considerably more organized than the rest of the first floor. Hooks had been placed into the wall that held ladles, strainers, wooden spoons of various sizes, spatulas, and measuring cups. The counters were covered in recipe books, glass bowls, colorful bottles, and jars labeled sugar, salt, and flour. Dried flowers and herbs were hanging upside down above the icebox, the cabinets, and the large window above the stove. The room shared the same wite and blue as the outside of the house, but the paint seemed to be in good condition here.
The sounds of cooking settled the ever-growing nerves that had begun to bubble in the back of her throat. The hypnotic sounds of someone stirring a wooden spoon in a metal pan in harmony with the gently sizzling of food reminded her of home. If she closed her eyes and ignored her stinging feet she could pretend she was sitting in the shrine’s kitchen, daydreaming during something dull like peeling potatoes or scrubbing the counter.
A whistle from a kettle she could not see instantly got the attention of her achy body. Nothing was better in the morning (or afternoon if it really was two oclock) than a warm cup of tea.
“How do you take it, kid?”
Sweet Soldeus! She could have wept. “Bit of milk and honey.” She tacked on a “thank you” when he placed the steaming mug in front of her and set down one for himself across from her . Not having to stand up, sleeping past dawn, and hot tea, yeah she could get used to this.
He walked back a minute later with two plates of food. Fresh eggs and a sizzling meat she did not recognize, but pinpointed as the source of the delicious smell, sat before her.
“I-thank you. You didn’t have to-” he silenced her with a small wave.
“Nonsense. Figured you were hungry. Dig in.”
They ate in silence. The only sounds came from the occasional scraping of silverware on plates, or from people cheerily walking past the cracked front windows, which let in a cool salty breeze. It wasn’t too different from her normal breakfasts back home if she thought about it.
Except there were no morning readings said over the meal. No playfully smacking Sister Gomphrena’s hands as the twelve year old tried to steal her toast, or the smell of hay wafting from the children who’d just come from milking Sunny. There would never be anymore of that.
She tentatively tried a piece of the crispy looking meat, and never before had she tasted such a combination of flavors. There was a slight chewy texture to it, but she wasn’t expecting the rich savory burst that accompanied it, nor the almost apple-y aftertaste. Many of the foods at the shrine were simple, refusal of extravagant foods attached to their vow of poverty. This little strip of meat satisfied both her love of salt and her love of rule breaking.
Maybe it was the fact that she practically inhaled her food, or the fact that she unconsciously licked her fingers after eating, but Robert slid his own bacon onto her plate. His raised brows were the only indication of how impressed he was at her speed.
“Alrighty. While ugh, while you finish that, why don’t we get started.” Noting the girl’s nod, her mouth full of food, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and laid it before them again. The letter looked more wrinkled than it did last night, an image of him staring at it all night crossed the girl’s mind. “I’d like to start off by apologizin’ to ya. I believe you. Ain’t no way you could have written this yourself, I’d recognize those lazy y’s of hers anywhere.”
She’d seen the sad smile on his face before a chipped green mug covered his mouth. She pretended not to notice.
“Now about you stayin’ here, well, that part gets a little tricky.”
Hurriedly swallowing the mouthful of eggs she’d crammed into her mouth, she tried not to choke on them and the fresh wave of panic. “What do you mean?” She didn’t like how vulnerable and weak she had sounded while saying that.
“Well Annie got that bit ‘bout the neighbors right, they’re gonna talk. Now her plan ain’t too bad, but I do worry ‘bout drawing attention to ourselves.”
“What kind of attention?”
“The dangerous kind. From what I know of Collectors, they’re not gonna stop and verify neighborhood gossip if they’re comin’ after ya, so we need to make our story ironclad.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Scratching his messy beard, he thought aloud, “well forgein’ the paperwork should be easy. I’ve got a few old friends who owe me favors. It’s how we introduce you to people that gives me a bit of concern.”
Davina’s rule breaking mind sung in awe. Someone who could lie about government papers? AND who was friends with criminals? This man is my hero.
“But havin’ a kid come back after, what, two decades? That’s not somethin’ that happens everyday.”
Her brain, not drowning in fatigue, could clearly see the lengths this man would be going through to help her. This man who didn’t know her, who didn’t have to help her, who easily could have slammed the door in her face and carried on with his life.
“Why are you helping me? Not- not that I’m not grateful! But I don’t really understand why.” She had slathered on the gratitude, not wanting to insult his already immense generosity.
He thought for a moment, seeming to have a difficult time choosing the right words. Maybe he didn’t even know why he was helping her.
“Did Anne ever explain why she had you say she was collecting a favor?” Davina hadn’t seen this question coming.
“No. She just told me what to say to you. I was wondering though.” She had been too confused and overwhelmed by the shock of the ceremony , and the loss of faith in her community to fully ask all the questions that were floating around in her head.
He gestured to her mug, as if to say drink it before it gets cold. She obliged and settled into her chair, ready to hear a story.
“It was a tradition the two of us started for our birthdays. We realized we were both rather shitty at givin’ gifts, so she came up with the idea. Every year you got one favor that the other person couldn’t say no to.”
“Like what?” She was almost twitchy with energy. No one had ever cursed in front of her before, she’d only read about them in one of her books. Evening Honey had two people posed dramatically on the front cover, and was perhaps the most scandalous book she had. Someone had clearly read it several times before her, for there were dog-eared pages, passages were underlined, and even little stars were drawn next to what she assumed were their favorite parts. One of the main characters had often used words that Davina didn’t quite understand, she was halfway through the book when she realized they were profanity. (She started the book over after realizing that.)
She also was keen to learn more about the woman who knew so much about her, but of whom she knew so little about.
The man chuckled softly to himself, lost in memories, and took a sip of his own drink before starting again. “All kinds of things really. One year she wanted a fancy sunset dinner on the water. So I stole a boat, set up a picnic basket, and we watched the sunset. Wound up getting lost once the sun went down, mind you, but it was certainly memorable.” When he smiled, years seemed to melt off his face. “Another year she wanted to paint the house blue. We got as far as the shudders and the door before we started slingin’ paint at each other and gave up.” He let himself chuckle a little louder this time, seeming a bit more relaxed.
“What favors did you ask?” she inquired, wanting to get a better sense of the man before her.
His smile started to fade from his face, and she regretted her question. “Small things, really. I was savin’ up for a bigger favor.”
Unsure of his shift in mood she decided to just let him go, and not say anything.
“I’d ask to listen to music in Merchant’s Corner together, or for her to accompany me on small jobs I did. The last favor I ever asked of her was for Lorraine.” His voice cracked when he said her name.
Was he going to cry? Where am I supposed to look? Finding the steaming depths of her cup quite fascinating to look at, she stared down while he slowly finished his story, almost unable to stop himself.
“We’d always wanted a family of our own, we just kept putting it off, bad timing or work. Ya know?” No, no she really didn’t know. “We had our dream a few months later and things just felt...right.” He paused and the heaviness of the unspoken words weighed heavily upon their first real conversation between the two.
Davina waited for him to speak, to say something. Anything. She would not be the one to break the intense (and slowly awkward growing) silence. She lived this way for twenty years, he’d crack way before she ever did.
When he did finally talk again, he cleared his throat and thankfully changed the topic, almost apologizing for his emotional speech. “So now you know why I’m helping you. But why am I helping you?”
“Huh?” That didn’t make sense, didn’t they just go over the why?
“I mean, why do you need help in the first place, kid? The letter didn’t exactly say.” The latter of his questions she could just make out, his voice echoing across the room as he stood to clear away the dishes.
“Oh. Well, ugh. I guess I needed a place to stay.” Her answer sounded more like a question, she didn’t feel very confident with her words just yet..
“Yeah, I gathered that much. But why?” His back was to her again, methodically scrubbing and rinsing off the traces of their meal.
“I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I was raised in the shrine, so I guess Sister- I mean, so I guess Anne figured this was the best place for me.”
“Wait, what do you mean ‘raised in’? Ain’t there an age restriction or somethin’?” Davina stared at her fingers as she told him about her unusual upbringing, not even pausing when he stopped cleaning the dishes to listen better. She talked about the pea-green blanket, how the sisters named her, her tutor, befriending Sister Viola, and about growing up in silence. He finally cut her off once she started verbally wandering, and had gone into detail about the type of seeds and grain Noel preferred.
“Woah woah, is Noel the bird?”
“Hmmm? Oh yes, he's the raven I was talking about.” She hadn’t meant to talk for fifteen minutes straight, but he hadn’t stopped her. She wasn’t too sure she could have spoken to someone that long had it not been for his quiet presence allowing her to simply purge the emotional load that was sitting on her chest.
“Okay. That was...a lot to take in, in one go.” She looked up to meet his eyes only to see him staring at the ceiling, like he was trying to piece together all the information she’d dumped on him. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll start our planning.”
She liked the sound of that. The clothes she’d been wearing were sticking to her back and smelled of better days. No to mention that her hair was beginning to take on an oily, itchy quality that she did care for. Nodding in agreement, she pushed back her chair and went to stand, only to suck in a sharp breath at the thrum of pain. It was easy to forget how much her feet hurt when they dangled safely off the floor.
“What?! What's wrong?” Noting the sprinkle of panic and worry that crept into his voice as he threw the dish towel over his shoulder and walked over to her, Davina was so bewildered in that moment she didn’t reply to him.
She’d hurt herself plenty of times at the shrine, but never had she heard someone express concern for her before. When she’d slipped on a patch of ice and bruised her back, she’d met several sets of worried eyes, but she took a hot bath and that was it. Slicing her hand while carving statues as a kid had earned her a warm, yet sad smile from Sister Zinnia, a bandage, and help to prevent it from happening again. She’d only received knowing looks from the sisters as she pricked her fingers learning to embroider. No one had ever voiced their worries, and now she knew why. No one had ever practically knocked a dish off the counter to find out why she was hurt either.
“What's wrong kid?” His eyes scanned her up and down looking for a clear sign of distress. Finding nothing obvious he raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to explain.
“I ugh, my feet hurt. I think I stepped on something.” His gaze quickly dropped to her feet, almost covered by the hem of the muddy green skit, noting how grimey they looked.
“Sit.” There was authority behind that one word, no room to question. She sat back in the chair she’d occupied the night before again, and he crouched next to her knees. Holding the back of her ankle and turning one of her feet so he could get a better look at it he asked, “why didn’t you say somethin’ sooner? I think you’ve got gravel embedded in a few of these cuts.” His brows were furrowed in concentration and he lifted her other foot, and tried to gently knock away some of the debris caked onto it.”
“They hurt, but I didn’t think they were that bad.” That was true, she had avoided looking at the soles of her feet, fearing what she would see.
He let go of her ankle and sat back on his own heels. “I was meanin’ to ask, but where are your shoes kid? It’s no wonder they’re all cut up, especially if you were walkin’ through those woods.”
The scolding tone in his voice made her want to instantly lie and tell him some story of how she had lost her shoes, but he didn’t seem like the type of man who would believe in such nonsense. “I’ve never had any,” she answered simply.
“Ever?”
“Never. To crave earthly possessions is to welcome greed into your soul.” Even she was unnerved by the robotic tone in her voice as she quoted the communitie’s teachings. He muttered something under his breath that Davina thought was a curse followed by morons. This man was really growing on her.
“Okay, shower and gently clean off your feet. Then I’ll patch you up.” He stood back up and began gathering various objects from cupboards, shelves, and tabletops.
“Shower?”
“Wha-yeah, ya know, shower.” He stopped mid-grab for a tube of something on one of the counters and turned back to her, not understanding her question. Seeing the confused expression of her full face he added, “you…don't know, do ya? Ah, okay….Showers, it’s like a bath but standing up. Just, you’ll enjoy it alright? The bathroom is the door across from where you slept last night.” He resumed his collecting, and yelled “I’ll leave some of Anne’s spare clothes in your room,” and she gently walked up the stairs.
⟴
If Davina were to describe showers, she’d liken it to a rainstorm she got caught in when she was thirteen. The rain that day poured straight down and managed to soak her hair through the thick veil and toque. The mini rain storm in the white-tiled bathroom drenched her in mere moments and was perhaps the first thing of the outside world she had fallen in love with.
After thankfully peeling off the clothes that had started to feel like a second layer of grimey skin, she’d spent a few minutes fiddling with the temperature. If only real rain could be this warm. The water pounded against her back and melted away any traces of the last two days. She scrubbed her skin with a strong smelling bar of soap until the water finally ran clear and her skin was slightly pink, carefully washing her feet as she went. She washed her hair with a bottle of something she found on the counter that overwhelmed her nose with rosemary and eucalyptus. She hadn’t realized the startling amount of nature her hair had decided to carry with her, as bits of leaves, small twigs, and several burrs were washed away.
She stayed there and basked in the clean warmth until the water ran cold and her fingers were pruney. There was a dark grey towel hanging on the back of the door she happily wrapped herself with, and a satisfying cloud of steam left the room as she opened the door and crossed the hall.
True to his word, Robert had left a small pile of clothing on the dark blue bed. Never before had Davina been so excited to try on clothes before in her life. She’d only ever worn the brown tunics that announced to the world she belonged to the Malden Bay Shrine of New Light. The mound before her was full of deep reds and oranges, warm whites, soft beige, muted greens and the occasional hints of yellow. There was a surprising amount of floral patterns and embroidered designs, though a few of them looked frayed and aged.
Running her fingers along the soft fabrics it was hard not to fall in love. Settling on a maroon dress that reminded her of the changing leaves during autumn, she tried to pretend like her eyes were not filled with tears as she looked down at herself. Never had such a striking color been on her delicate frame before. The dark green skirt that now lay crumpled on the bathroom floor had been so quickly covered in mud that it soon resembled one of her brown tunics and lost its appeal.
Gingerly trodding back across the hall to pick up her discarded clothing, she dared to lift her face towards the mirror that hung on the wall. Gone was the swamp monster from the night prior, and reflecting back at her was someone she both knew and didn’t.
The bones of her old self were still there, same full face, same hazel eyes, same old nose, but there was an excited light trying to claw its way through. Her freshly scrubbed face had a tinge of pink that was made brighter by the color of the dress, and her eyes were so wide with nervous energy they practically bugged out of her skull. She could have sworn her hair was even bouncier than normal.
Tossing the bundle of soiled clothes into the corner of, what she was calling her room, she went back downstairs in search of Robert. She found him still in the kitchen, absently crushing and mixing something with a mortar and pestle while his eyes scanned a dense looking book that laid on the counter.
Seeing her out of the corner of his eyes he gestured with the pestle for her to sit, which was covered in a dust of some kind. She obliged and watched him work, expertly adding various things to the mixture and occasionally reaching for jars or containers spread around him. She could have sworn he was quietly humming something under his breath.
Finally her curiosity got the better of her, “what is all of that?”
“Hm? Well, this is a mixture of coneflower, lemongrass, and mint.” Not turning towards her, he shook the crushed ingredients into a mesh pouch, tightened its strings, and placed it into a clean mug. “And this is calendula.” He gave no more explanation towards the blue jar next to him, instead he took the kettle off the stove and poured the steaming water into the cup.
His process done, he strode over to where she sat, armed with the jar and a handful of white gauze and a tweezer. The chair next to her made a muffled scraping sound as he pulled it out and settled himself into it.
Ah, now I get it. Realizing his intent she placed one of her legs into his lap, mentally preparing herself for discomfort.
His observant eyes studied her now clean foot, and began carefully picking bits of debris out of the many shallow gashes. He worked fast and meticulous, a small hill of pebbles and flecks of dirt quickly gathering on the table. He was also generous enough to ignore the girl’s involuntary whimpers or hisses of pain.
When both feet were deforested, the blue jar was opened and a layer of the calendula cream was applied. The cream was cool against her stinging skin and Davina liked it’s woodsy almost tree sap-like smell. Both of her feet were then wrapped in a loose layer of gauze, it looked as though she were wearing a pair of interesting socks.
Inspecting her fancy new feet, she heard Robert stand and the clink of glass told her he had gathered the supplies off of the table. He came back a moment later with the cup and placed it next to her elbow.
“Here, drink this. It’ll help your body fight off any infections, plus it doesn’t taste half bad.” He waited until she took a sip, then retreated back into the kitchen, his safe space Davina decided.
The tea tasted of strong pine needles, but the hint of lemongrass added a wonderful smoothness to it. “Thank you.” It was half whispered into the mug, but she knew he heard it, his head dipped ever so slightly in a brisk nod. Someone had done this all for her. Her. Maybe it was the emotional toll of the past few days, but she thought she may cry. She drowned the feelings under a gulp of hot tea instead.
“You’ve gotta stay off of those as much as you can for about two days. They should be marginally better by then.” Flicking her eyes up from the amber liquid, Robert was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and eyes staring at the floor lost in thought. “I guess I can start spreadin’ our story to a few people before you go wanderin’ around the town.”
“Thank you again for eve-”
“Seriously, don’t mention it kid. It's no skin off my back, hell this is the most fun I’ve had in a few years.” He laughed darkly to himself, then covered it by pretending to clear his throat when he saw her face. “What? It’s not everyday I get to house a runaway,” he shrugged nonchalantly.
“Okayyy..” Yeah, she wasn’t too sure how to respond to that.
“So, ugh, if anyone asks, your name is Lorraine Stokes. Alright?”
Now this was the section of the plan she was apprehensive about. She could just envision herself slipping up and forgetting the fake name, or answering a question that someone who didn’t live in a religious shrine their whole life could possibly know.
Part of her was not happy with taking on another name. After years she’d finally rid herself of Sister Myrtle, only to become Lorraine Stokes. She thought leaving the confines of the shrine would finally allow her to become Davina.
A more rational corner of her mind wondered if becoming Lorraine was the clean slate she was looking for. Maybe the idea of a pristine or fresh Davina was too far gone. Even childish. Yeah, she could do this. She could...oh sweet stars, who am I kidding. I can’t do this.
“I can do that.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily.
⟴
Robert helped the girl over the one of the chairs in the cluttered sitting room, after tossing the pile of clothing that had occupied it before onto the floor.
“Now I should be back in an hour or so,” he said as he slid his arms into a worn brown coat.
“Wait, what?” Him leaving was news to her. The idea of being left alone in a house she didn’t know was alarming. He placed a patient hand on top of her shoulder when she moved to stand.
“Well, unless you wanna eat moldy tomatoes or some stale crackers, I’ve gotta get us some food. What we had earlier was it.”
“Oh.” That made sense.
“It’ll also give me a chance to mention that you’re here. I’m friends with Marcel Simmons who runs the market a few streets down. He’s also a good-for-nothin’ gossip, so if I tell him my kids back in town word will spread fast.” He slipped on a pair of worn boots that could have been older than her.
Did she spy a hint of nervousness in the man’s face? Maybe he wasn’t immediately okay with calling someone he met hours ago the name of his dead child. Davina certainly wouldn’t be.
“Well, ugh, have fun?” She couldn’t think of anything better to say.
He raised a slightly graying brow at her choice of words but chuckled slightly as he moved towards the door. “Now don’t open this for anyone, no wild parties while I’m gone, and don’t burn the place down, ya hear?” She agreed to the odd rules and watched his figure retreat into the evening light, only for the door to creak back open a moment later. A quick shout of “and stay off your feet!” was heard before the old door softly thudded shut, and she was alone.
After five minutes of nothing, Davina’s hands needed something to do. At the shrine her free time was mostly filled with chores or prayer, it was frowned upon to sit still. Unproductive. Useless. She decided to fold the clothing Robert had tossed onto the floor so she would have somewhere to sit.
Technically scooting myself onto the floor is still staying off my feet. Soon several pairs of shirts, jackets, pants, and sweaters were folded and stacked into neat piles around her.
Another few minutes of idleness had Davina curiously peeking at the contents of the table before her. It was covered in papers, some crumpled into balls, used pens, more colorful jars, mugs, boxes, and books. Many of the books had similar titles such as, Brenner’s guide to Healing, Medicinal Plants of the East, Integrating Southern Herbs: A Modern Hilrock volI, The Practice of Traditional Herbalism: Basic Doctrine, and Herbal Foraging: A Field Guide to Basic Classification. She didn’t know what to make of them, but after flicking through a few pages she was intrigued by the sketches of various ferns, flowers, and trees.
After the books on the table were alphabetically organized, she started straightening up the miscellaneous objects around them. Pens were tested on a crumpled up piece of paper, the dead ones were gathered in a pile while the working ones were placed in a mug that was lying on its side. Jars were grouped by size and colour, while boxes were stacked by height. In one opened box (not that she was snooping) she found spools of various colored threads and a few silver needles sticking out of a pin cushion.
She had come across a few holes and torn seams while she was folding the floor clothes, and there was needle and thread, so her fingers got to work. There was something incredibly satisfying about sewing and embroidery. Maybe it was the pulling of the needle, or getting to see a design slowly emerge and come to life, but it had always been a way for Davina’s mind to wonder.
“Whatcha’ doin’ kid?” That was how Robert found her, an hour and twenty-four minutes later, sitting on the floor surrounded by neat piles, her eyes focused on an old shirt of his. He hadn’t seen the needle or thread.
“Hmm?” She blinked lazily and glanced up at him and the still-opened front door. “Oh,” seeing his arms full of bags she stood to help him, carefully pushing her work off of her lap.
“No no, I’m fine. I can make it the last few steps on my own, I ain’t that old. You go back to...whatever it is you're doing.” The once-blue door creaked shut with a nudge from his boot, and he made his way back to the kitchen.
Wanting to be useful, Davina gingerly stood up and followed him, feet feeling squishy in their cream-filled bandages .
The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, throwing sleepy shadows onto the wood floors. The sturdy-looking man was opening cabinets and tossing small boxes and bags with colorful text into them. He was in the middle of reaching for two bottles of milk when he saw her starting to reach into a bag filled with produce. “Ah ah ah ah,” she dropped the apple she was holding back into the bag. “You’re supposed to be stayin’ off your feet. Go sit, I’ve got this.”
Not wanting to sit by herself in silence anymore, and not wanting to walk all the way back into the dining room, she sat on the floor amongst the bags of food.
Seeing her crossed legged on the floor, in one of her old dresses, Robert couldn’t help but see Anne in the girl. She’d been a stubborn one too, and he missed her with every fiber of his being. Sighing he nudged the produce bag towards where she sat and scooped the peeler off the counter. “Here, if you’re dead set on being helpful, peel those carrots would ya?” She took it from him with a smile that lit her whole face and happily got to work.
Davina helped cook dinner from the floor that night. Knowing every inch of his kitchen, Robert worked around her efficiently. He asked her to pass him things from the cabinet she was next to, directing her without taking his eyes off of the large pot before him. Though she knew he did all of the hard work, she took a smidge of credit for how delicious the soup was in her mind (she did help with the carrots and the broth after all). They ate in the kitchen, she was still on the floor and Robert was leaning against one of the counters, he didn’t want her to stand unless she absolutely had to. The soup was far better than any broth or gruel she’d had at the shrine. It was filled with noodles, slices of soft carrots, and tiny chunks of potatoes. It was so rich, warm, and filling that she felt her eyelids getting heavy before she was halfway done.
Though she’d only been awake for a few hours her body already felt drained and her mind a little sluggish. Robert, aware of her slipping grasp on consciousness, reached over and took the bowl out of her grasp, fearing another crack in the old dish and not in the mood to clean anything up.
“Why don’t you go get some sleep, kid? You’ve had a long couple of days.” The girl simply nodded, thanked him for the meal, and he heard her bandaged feet slowly retreat up the stairs.
He spent the better part of an hour slowly cleaning the remnants of their dinner, gathering supplies he would need for tomorrow, and replaying the day’s events over in his mind. The night prior had been split between staring at the ceiling of his room and Anne’s letter, his mind could only focus on something for so long before drifting back to her.
He knew Anne would have wanted him to look out for the kid, he was just having a hard time figuring out the logistics of how he was going to do so. There isn’t exactly a manual for how to raise a grown kid that aint yours now is there. Things were going better than he thought they would, if he was being honest. She wasn’t too hard to live with. The kid seemed satisfied with the smallest of things, and from what she’d explained of her homelife he guessed it made sense. Though, he’d never seen anybody inhale his cooking before, spend an hour in the shower, and he had caught her absentmindedly rubbing the material of the old dress between her fingers a few times. She was an odd one.
Heading towards the stairs he decided to grab the clothes she had folded, still laying on the floor. It wasn’t until he was attempting to cram them into his dresser later than night that he saw her handiwork. A row of neat little lines stood where he knew a hole had once been. He’d put the tare in those pants himself after messing with a loose thread. All of the holes had been stitched back together. The rip on the bottom of his favorite sweater from the neighbor's dog was gone, the hole in his long sleeved shirt from an angry zipper was fixed, and gone were the many holes in a pair of dark trousers that he probably should have thrown out years ago. He could also tell where she had gotten bored with the sewing, for there was a small yellow flower sewn over a hole on one of his shirt collars. The little flower got a small laugh out of the man, who pretended it wasn’t immediately his new favorite shirt. Yea, she’s certainly an odd one.
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