AMARYLLIS (Two Years Ago - Part One)

“I bet Old Gus has treasure kept locked away somewhere,” said Birch before jumping up onto the dead man’s bed in the corner of the cottage.

Rowan also ran ahead without thinking and came to a stop by the windowsill.

“What kind of treasure?” said Rowan.

“Old geezers like Gus always keep a stash of bounacheries,” said Birch, “It’s how they live so long.”

He smiled, revealing his missing front teeth, “If we find a stash of money we could run away and start new lives somewhere else. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Actually,” said Willow, a pretty grey-haired girl, who was stood next to me by the doorway, “The smart thing to do would be to wait until we’re legally old enough to leave Rootwork, and then use the money. What would be the point of running away when Cauliflower looks after us?”

“Tch! Does this look like Cauliflower looks after us?” said Birch, holding up the back of his hands to show criss-crossed scars. Birch’s example proved his point because we knew the pain of receiving scars just like his.

“Okay,” I said, causing the others to flinch, “Take everything you can carry outside.”

We made good progress taking out the old knick-knacks, dust-covered bottles, a strange amount of chipped pieces of wood and dust, as well as dirty carpets, tattered curtains, and mangy clothes.

As the evening wore on our work pace became slower. Thanks to working six out of seven days in the week running errands around Rootwork, my body felt like heavy ropes tied into knots; Birch, Rowan, and Willow were just as sluggish as I was.

We had thrown everything we could carry out of the cottage and onto the tall grass outside. Birch, Rowan, and I stood catching our breath after relocating a large basket of chopped firewood.

“Everyone come look!” said Willow from inside the cottage.

We rushed inside and found her stood by Old Gus’s bed with a large trunk by her sandaled feet.

Birch gasped and leaped to Willow’s side, “Treasure!” he said, “It’s gotta be!”

Whilst Birch pried the heavy trunk lid open my stomach lurched at the possibility of there being a knife, hatchet, or some other weapon inside.

“Wow!” said Birch, shoving his hand into the trunk.

Before I could muster the effort to hurry to his side Birch took an object from the trunk and held it up to show us.

I had to train my eyes on the thing thanks to the musty yellow lantern light in the cottage. The object in Birch’s hand was made of wood, and was in the shape of a bear. It stood with its back vertically raised the way I had seen dogs sit on their hind legs.

After several long moments looking at the wooden bear statuette in Birch’s hand, we all turned our attention to a selection of animal statuettes inside the trunk.

Willow reached into the trunk taking a statuette that looked like an owl down to the tiniest details.

“Do you think he made them?” said Rowan.

“Maybe,” said Willow.

“Can we keep them, Amary?” said Birch.

“No,” I said, “Put them back.”

“But it’s not like anyone is going to miss them!” said Birch, “Please can we keep them?”

“No,” I said, “If Cauliflower finds out we took them he’ll be angry with us.”

Birch held onto the bear statuette as if he were trying to rub it clean.

“Can we at least play with them for a little bit? We’ve already emptied most of the cottage like Cauliflower told us to.”

“Fine,” I said, “But you have to put them back when you’re done.”

They fell to their knees, took all the animal statuettes out of the trunk, and began to play.

It looked like a lot of fun.

“Are you going to play with us?” said Willow.

“No,” I said, “I’ll keep watch.” I walked to the cottage door and gazed out to the dark of night.

They were able to play together for an hour.

“Cauliflower’s coming,” I said, having spotted Cauliflower’s cigar bobbing like a firefly in the dark as he approached from far along the dirt road, which was surrounded by dense forestation on either side.

The others hurriedly put the statuettes back into the trunk which they then slid under the bed.

With some relief I could see Cauliflower was in a happy mood. He smelled of smoke and liquor, and looked to the rest of the cottage with half-lidded eyes; he scratched an itch on his right sideburn which, like the rest of his head of hair, was thick, curly, and white.

“Good job,” he said, “That mess out front’ll need to be cleared up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said, giving a small nod, relieved that sleep in the tent wasn’t too far away.

“But,” he said after taking another long inhale from his cigar, “Bring that firewood outside to the campfire. No need to let it go to waste.”

All four of us grabbed the handles to the basket Old Gus used to carry his firewood whilst Cauliflower led the way towards the guardian’s campfire. After a full day of work, and clearing out some but not all of Old Gus’s cottage belongings, the extra quarter of an hour it took to go out of our way to the guardian’s campfire left me even more tired. The dark of night lay heavy on my eyes and the firm dirt road pushed painfully against my aching feet. The rustling of the surrounding tree leaves, usually a comfort, instead made me anxious.

We delivered the large basketful of logs to the base of an already large stack of wood near one of a half dozen wagons; Old Gus had been a guardian for decades, and Cauliflower, who had become a guardian shortly before I was born, was currently Rootwork’s only guardian receiving payment. All other guardians that had come and gone over the years had done so on a temporary basis before moving on. Come spring a new guardian or two would come to stay before leaving sometime in the fall. Because not even Old Gus was around anymore the campfire felt very empty.

“Is that everything?” said Cauliflower from where he was sat on a log near the fire. The weight of the question hung on my shoulders. Although my back was to Birch, Rowan, and Willow, I knew they were waiting to see if I were going to mention the statuettes.

“No,” I said, “We also found a trunk beneath the bed which has wooden animal carvings in them.”

“Why didn’t you mention it before?” said Cauliflower.

“We didn’t know if you wanted to keep them or throw them away,” I said.

“Well bring them here and I’ll decide. Hurry to it you have work tomorrow.”

We rushed back through the dark and chilly night both because we wanted to speed up the time it would take to go to bed, and because we knew the longer we took, the less of a good mood Cauliflower would be in when we returned.

When the warmth of the guardian’s campfire was gone, Birch turned to face me, bringing all of us to a stop.

“Why did you tell Cauliflower about the carvings?”

I observed the unsettling view of his face, made featureless in the dark, carefully before continuing forward and past him.

“Half-breed I’m talking to you!”

The intended sting of Birch’s words didn’t hurt enough for me to stop my progress toward Old Gus’s cottage. Walking in the dark with my whole body aching, and the mental tiredness bringing about a splitting headache, I tried to purchase my mind on something else. I stumbled through the dark and hardly noticed a sudden dip in a muddy hole that left my foot wet up to the ankle.

There was little that could take my mind of the nervousness I felt at making Cauliflower angry. Keeping a strong and steady pace I walked with my hands firmly balled into fists. My whole body was feeling the cold except for the numbness on the back of my hands; I had felt the agony of the guardian’s cane enough times to never want to experience it again, there wasn’t time to care about playing with carvings, just the urgent need to avoid being punished. My throat was dry and thirsted for a mouthful of water but that would have to wait until tomorrow.

I groped for the musty lantern on the windowsill I had lit earlier and used the same flint stones beside it to get it going. Under the ugly yellow light I could see Rowan and Willow had sulking looks on their faces.

It was tougher pulling the trunk out from under the bed than I expected. The coating of dust tickled my nose. I touched the top of the trunk thinking about the best way to carry it out of the cottage when Birch’s hand squeezed my shoulder.

“Please can we keep one each?”

“Please?” said Rowan.

“Please, Amary?” said Willow.

“You can take one too,” said Birch, “You can have any one you want. It’ll be a secret between the four of us.”

To improve the odds of swaying me Birch struck the cottage floor with his knees and flung open the trunk. The carvings were beautiful, which made me doubt Old Gus was the one who had carved them. How could such a spiteful old man produce such incredible items?

Old Gus had been old ever since I could remember and prone to bouts of confusion about the simplest things. He stuck to a routine throughout the day, which consisted of heavy drinking, and moving at a snail’s pace from one chair to another. We mostly saw him on the last day of the week, the one day us orphans were given to play and do whatever we wanted so long as we stayed near the tent. He sat rooted to his chair and divided his time between long bouts of sleep, and nibbling on an apple. He had no teeth left, so he would pinch off a bit of the apple and then suck on it all day to drink the mush and juice. There was no doubt in my mind that he was a cruel old man because he never let me play with the other children. Instead, because his eyes were all but useless, he made me give him regular descriptions of what the other orphans were doing.

One time he was sat in his usual rickety chair under the shade of a large tree keeping cool from the summer sun. The flowers skirting the tent clearing were in full bloom. But Old Gus had a screw-eyed look on his face. He sat loosely in his seat, legs stretched out, slumped to one side, his chin against his chest because the muscles in his neck weren’t able to keep his head up anymore.

“Don’t get old,” he said, at first talking more to the warm breeze than to me. “Youth is fleeting; one day you’re young and spry and the world is full of promise. Next thing you’re old, and getting older, and all the promises disappear. When you’re my age all you have left are wants.”

He pointed with a trembling finger to our left.

“What’s happening over there?”

“Willow is climbing a tree.”

“Tell her to get down or it’ll be the cane.”

I did as I was told, yelling out as loud as I could, drawing the attention of many other orphans that stopped in their tracks, thinking they might’ve been the ones to be in trouble, before renewing their games.

“Did she get down?”

“Yes.”

Old Gus grunted, farted, and then sneezed one after the other. His eyes set on me with a crude sneer.

“There’s these things; turtles they’re called, lizards that live in shells. Big they are, and if you get too close they’ll bite your hand clean off.”

He began to lose himself as he often did in one of his memories, his milky eyes losing all focus.

“No better meat than turtle meat. Tender and soft. We used to take twenty big ones with us and stack ‘em up in the cargo hold. Worth big money. But we spent so long at sea we never made port at Baywater without eating the whole lot of them. Better than a soddin’ apple.”

He let what was left of the apple he’d reduced to mush fall to the grass.

“Live for hundreds of years turtles,” he said, “Funny old leathery things.”

You’re an old leathery thing, I had thought to myself.

I absently chewed the inside of my cheek whilst I looked over the carvings, and then drew my head back when I saw a specific one in the top right hand corner.

“That’s a good one!” said Birch as I picked the carving out of the trunk and held it in my hand.”

“What is it?” said Rowan.

“It’s a turtle,” I said.

I held the turtle carving in my hand and didn’t know how I would even begin to play with it, but I wanted to. My hand felt like it was no longer a part of myself as it put the carving right back where I found it.

Turning to face Birch, Rowan, and Willow, I said, “I’m not going to lie to Cauliflower, if he asks me how many there were and if you took any I’ll tell him.”

“Why?” said Birch, tears welling up in his eyes, “Why won’t you lie for us just this once?”

“Cauliflower won’t let any child have a toy. If you have one, then everyone will want one.”

“Please, Amary! You’re a child too you know!”

Rowan and Willow, who were stood side by side, were on the verge of tears. Not just because they wanted to play with Old Gus’s secret statuettes, but because Birch wasn’t the kind of child to beg or cry.

“Please!”

“If you want one so badly then ask him yourself!”

“He’ll punish us!”

“Then you know you shouldn’t ask me either.”

Birch charged at me. The weight of his body striking mine sent us both falling to the hard wood floor. I tried to get up but he grabbed both my hands in his and sat on my chest. A mixture of his snot, tears, and saliva fell on my face in thick droplets; I gritted my teeth and tried to get out from under him. Willow screamed.

Birch let go of my hands and pushed into my face, I feared my jaw might break from the tension but before that could happen Rowan grabbed hold of Birch and pulled him away.

After I climbed to my feet I noticed the neck of my sleeveless grey shirt had been pulled loose. I lightly touched my mouth and found blood on my fingertips.

Inhaling sharply, there was a pain up my back and a different kind of stabbing sensation in my chest. Birch was calming down, and rapidly regretting what he had just done, likewise Rowan and Willow were watching for any indication of how I would react.

“Take the trunk outside,” I said, my voice wavering from the shock of being tackled.

Birch helped Rowan and Willow carry the trunk out of the cottage and along the dirt road as we made our way back to the campfire. Red stains dotted my shirt where I had wiped my mouth without thinking.

“Amary?”

The angry tone Birch had used in the cottage was replaced by a girlish squeak.

“I’m sorry, Amary,” he said when I didn’t answer him.

“Okay,” I said.

“Please don’t tell Cauliflower what I did.”

“I’ll try not to mention it,” I said.

I didn’t agree with Birch’s behaviour, I felt sorry for him. It didn’t seem worth trying to muster anger inside myself that wasn’t there. There was still the taste of blood in my mouth; my tongue had found the spot on my gum where it had torn open a little. Other than a trembling in my legs, the pain in my neck and back was going to be much sorer tomorrow morning.

“Took you long enough,” said Cauliflower when we arrived, he held an uncorked wine bottle in his hand that was three quarters empty.

He was sat in the driver’s seat in the wagon nearest us, half his tall frame lit by the flickering light of the campfire.

Like some kind of offering to a king the others set the trunk on the muddy ground before him.

He put the wine bottle on the seat beside him and then stepped down from the wagon and opened up the trunk revealing all the animal carvings.

“Would you look at this?” he said, cheerfully, holding up the bear statuette.

At first I thought he was checking to see if the statuette might have any value, but he didn’t check for long before chucking it over his shoulder. The bear statuette landed just shy of the campfire’s burning embers.

“Sir?!” said Birch suddenly.

Cauliflower’s smirk vanished along with the relative safety it promised.

“You got a problem?” he said in a low voice barely audible above the crackling of the campfire.

“Please,” Birch said, stepping ahead of me, “If you’re going to burn them anyway could we please have just one each? We worked really hard to clean out the cottage.”

Cauliflower strode closer to Birch, crouching down to his eye-level.

“Do the rest of you want one too?” said Cauliflower, not breaking eye contact with Birch.

“No,” I said, forcing the words out of my seized up throat, “Not me.”

Rowan and Willow were silent for a moment, before Rowan spoke up, his voice trembling.

“I-I would like one, please, sir,” Rowan stammered.

“M-me too,” said Willow.

My legs felt like they were about to collapse from under me and there was a pain in my stomach like a really bad need to pee. Cauliflower looked to me and his face became friendly, his eyes closing to squints and his thin lips creasing into a jovial smile without genuine mirth.

“Amary, off to bed with you,” he said, “Good night.”

I turned and ran not caring about the danger of tripping in the pitch dark on my way back through the black forest; it was a quiet night, and as fast and as far as I ran it still wasn’t enough to escape Birch, Rowan, and Willow’s terrible screams.