AMARYLLIS (Two Years Ago - Part Four)

Week after week Miss Waxwood called upon Birch, Rowan, Willow, and me to work in her cottage to fix it up to her standards.

After the first month all the work to be done had been done, but each evening we were asked to go to the cottage anyway.

I had never thought of myself as a smart person, but even I could tell Miss Waxwood had started to enjoy our company a lot; which was fine because we enjoyed her company even more.

There was no end to the tasks she pretended to need our help with, like churning butter, grinding herbs, stomping grapes, and stitching fabric to make new clothes for all the orphans (the latter task taking us weeks to accomplish).

After three months Miss Waxwood had decided she would take time to teach us how to read.

This was however to be kept a secret from Cauliflower.

During the day Miss Waxwood pretended she hardly knew our names, but during the night she was as warm and as caring as ever.

The four of us had started to put on a little fat thanks to all the crumpets, cookies, cakes, and other delicious foods she made for us, and with us, each evening.

We simply couldn’t imagine our lives without her.

But then, four months since she had first arrived at Rootwork, Miss Waxwood was crying.

“All of us?” said Rowan; he was stood to her left clinging to her elbow.

Miss Waxwood hesitated, then said, “Yes, all of you.”

“Why?” said Birch, voicing the question we were all thinking.

“You see,” she said after wiping tears from her cheeks, “I can’t have children of my own. For reasons I shan’t go into I have become estranged to the last of my living relatives, and I’m too old and have no interest pursuing marriage. It might sound awfully wrong, but I came to Rootwork with the intention of adopting a child.”

Then in a fragile voice she said, “What do you think of the idea?”

Birch, Rowan, and Willow began to shake her arms as if trying to pull them off.

“Please! Please! Please!” they begged.

Miss Waxwood hushed them gently back to silence and then looked to me.

“P-please,” I whispered, because I wanted it so much I could hardly speak.

The others fell into her arms and hugged her close, but I remained sat on the sofa opposite her afraid I might not be welcome like they were.

With a knowing smile Miss Waxwood said, “You too, Amaryllis.”

I sprung up and fell into her arms.

Four months later, I helped Birch, Rowan, and Willow load the remainder of Miss Waxwood’s things onto the wagon.

Our sighs could be seen in the crisp fall air and the sky shined dull silver against the bald trees.

It hadn’t taken long to gut the cottage of Miss Waxwood’s belongings.

After she turned her back to the cottage and met us at the wagon, she said, “Remember children: always leave a place better than you found it.”

She could see the tightness on our faces.

“Oh, don’t worry, darlings,” she said, “I need to make some final arrangements in Rose City, and then I’ll come back for you.”

“When will you be back?” said Willow.

“In seven days. I promise,” said Miss Waxwood.

She gave us each a kiss and a hug and then took her seat at the front of the wagon, and all too quickly she set off and was soon out of sight.

On the seventh day rain fell thick and heavy outside the tent. The bad weather dampened the moods of the other orphans who were stuck inside and unable to play in the field; but Birch, Rowan, Willow, and me weren’t downhearted, instead we watched the dirt road from the tent entrance and peered into the rain for anything that might suggest Miss Waxwood and her wagon was drawing near.

When the day was over the smiles we had held on our faces as a sign that we believed she would return were gone.

On the eighth day we woke feeling a hole in our hearts which grew with each passing hour.

She didn’t return on the ninth day, or the tenth, or the eleventh.

“She’ll come back!” cried Birch.

We had hidden ourselves inside the cottage to have a safe place to talk away from the prying ears of the other orphans.

“Then why isn’t she here?” I said.

“Maybe she’s on her way but something happened,” said Rowan, “Maybe her wagon is broken and she has to wait to get it fixed. Or maybe whatever she needed to do in Rose City has taken longer than she thought. It’s not been long enough for us to think that she might not come back.”

“What if…what if…” said Willow, tears forming in her eyes and her pretty face creasing into ugliness, “S-she was only p-pretending to w-want u-us?”

“Don’t say that!” Birch shouted, grabbing Willow by the shoulders.

“She loves us!” he said, “We just have to be patient! Right, Willow?”

“Y-yes,” said Willow, nodding and then burying her face against Birch’s shoulder.

“Right, Rowan?” said Birch.

“Yeah. Right,” said Rowan, finding his courage to agree.

They looked to me.

“Right,” I said, trying to squash the ache in my heart that made me doubt.

For the first time Birch, Rowan, and Willow raced to me and held me close.

It was as they held me I looked down and saw a familiar, broken face covered in soot inside the fireplace.

I moved from the others and fell to my knees in front of the fireplace and took hold of the face.

“It’s the head of the doll that was broken,” I said, cupping it in my hands.

Birch felt around the fireplace soot for any remainder of the rest of the doll, but found nothing.

“It was broken,” said Willow, “She didn’t want the head anymore. She must have taken the doll’s body back with her to Rose City.”

In the days which followed they took turns holding onto the doll’s head (I never took a turn because as head child I couldn’t risk being seen with it). The doll’s head, rather than help keep them firm in their belief that Miss Waxwood would return, only made them doubt more. When it was a month to the day since Miss Waxwood left they agreed to bury the doll’s head a short distance from the cottage because none of them wanted to be burdened with it anymore.

It was early evening and we were back in the tent with the other orphans for an hour before we heard Cauliflower calling to us from outside.

The smiles returned to our faces as we hurried out of the tent.

Like a dream brought to life Miss Waxwood was stood with Cauliflower a stone’s throw away from us.

That part of myself that had tried so hard to believe that she might return was no longer needed, because she was there, she was real, and waiting for us with a smile on her face.

“Come here,” said Cauliflower, wagging his hand.

“Waxwood tells me she wants to buy the four of you,” he said, once we were lined up in front of him and Miss Waxwood.

Miss Waxwood stressed at length before that showing our affection for her openly in front of Cauliflower would only drive up the price for each of us, so none of us said anything.

“You sure you want them? It doesn’t look like they’re that interested,” said Cauliflower.

“They’re good workers,” said Miss Waxwood, plainly.

Cauliflower stuck his little finger in his ear and fished out some wax, “Well,” he said, “As their legal guardian I can sell them for as little or as much as I want. But I won’t be unreasonable, I’ll sell you these three for five hundred bunacheries each.”

He gestured to Birch, Rowan, and Willow. And then he pointed at me and said, “She’ll cost seven hundred.”

“Seven hundred?!” said Miss Waxwood, in shock, “Why should she cost more?”

Cauliflower folded his arms and shrugged.

“She’s my best worker. She’s like a little guardian. I won’t accept a bunacherie less for her.”

“Will you accept deferred payment?” said Miss Waxwood with a desperateness that made my stomach tie up in knots.

“No,” said Cauliflower.

“But I don’t have that much!” said Miss Waxwood, “I’ve scrimped and saved two-thousand bunacheries because you told me that’s what it would cost. I can’t pay a bunacharie more!”

“Then you can’t have her, it’s as simple as that. Or you could give up one of the other ones.”

I could hear Birch, Rowan, and Willow sucking in their breaths. Miss Waxwood looked above to the leafless forest canopy as if she might find the absent bunacheries she needed there.

“What about the wagon?” said Birch.

“Or your horse?” said Rowan.

“Shut up,” said Cauliflower in a low tone.

“No children,” said Miss Waxwood, “We need those to leave here.”

“What about your dolls?” said Willow.

“Dolls?” Cauliflower scoffed.

“Yes!” said Miss Waxwood, “What about them? They’re worth close to three hundred bunacheries each! I have them with me--”

“--I don’t want your dolls,” said Cauliflower, cutting her off, “Only money.”

Cauliflower leaned close enough to Miss Waxwood that I was sure she could smell his breath.

“Let’s stop playing your little game,” he said to her, “Pay up or the whole thing’s off.”

Miss Waxwood looked from Birch, to Rowan, to Willow, and then finally to me.

“Okay,” she said in a whisper, “Just these three.”

I could see the joy on their faces at being chosen.

Miss Waxwood handed over a large purse to Cauliflower.

“Wait here,” he said, and he crouched to set the purse on the wet ground so he could count every bunacherie.

Miss Waxwood took hold of my hands.

I stared back at her blankly feeling as if she was real but I was just a dream.

“I’m sorry, Amaryllis,” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks.

The warmth of her touch lasted a few moments and then eased off.

Content that every bunacharie was accounted for Cauliflower handed over the legal guardianship contracts to Miss Waxwood.

Unlike the first time Miss Waxwood left it took her a while to leave my sight; Cauliflower let me watch the backs of her, Birch, Rowan, and Willow until they turned the corner at the top of the dirt road and were gone.

“How are you feeling?” said Cauliflower, an hour later.

He was sat in his usual wagon seat close to the lit guardian campfire. I didn’t have an answer for him.

“You’re upset,” he said, “And for that you only have yourself to blame.”

“She couldn’t afford to buy me,” I said, bowing my head and watching the fire embers creep up a piece of wood.

“Amaryllis,” said Cauliflower with a sigh, “I asked you here because I don’t want you thinking I’m the monster in this situation.”

“But you are,” I said, unable to control myself.

“When you’re old enough to leave my guardianship, which is a little more than a year from now, you’ll be free to go and do whatever you want. But I want you to know that you’ll have a job here as a guardian the moment you come of age, with full payment, and I’ll even give you the cottage; assuming another guardian doesn’t move in first.”

“I don’t want to be a guardian,” I said in a whisper.

Cauliflower reached behind his seat and retrieved a bottle of wine, uncorked it, and took a long drink.

“Where in the world do you think you’ll be welcome?” he said, “You’re a half-breed. You won’t find better work than what I’m offering.”

I stayed silent. Cauliflower sighed. Though we were together I felt alone in the dark of night and took no warmth from him or the campfire.

“Do you really think Miss Waxwood was going to take you with her? Be honest.”

“Yes,” I said, “She promised.”

Cauliflower sneered.

“Not even trying to hide it now, eh? Think I didn’t know she was playing mother with you?”

“You didn’t,” I said.

“Oh, I did,” said Cauliflower, “And I figured why not? Let her coddle the four of you. In the past we’ve given orphans away for free. She paid five hundred each because that’s how much she was willing to pay.”

“I could be with her right now,” I said.

Cauliflower took another swig of wine.

“You’re wrong,” he said, “And you know why? Because Waxwood wants cute Rosian children to mother; children with the same red blood running through their veins. Not some half-breed. Don’t go thinking you missed out on something you were never going to have to begin with.”

I gave Cauliflower a look so cold it was a wonder he didn’t turn to ice; his intense gaze back at me faltered.

“But she does want me,” I said.

Cauliflower grinned humorously, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t have made her pay more than five hundred bunacheries if she hadn’t asked me to.”

“What?” I said, “I don’t…”

“She. Was never. Going. To. Buy. You,” said Cauliflower, “Think, Amaryllis, think! She wants children but you’re not a child. That little show she did trying to haggle with me was so she could save face in front of the other three who think she can do no wrong. She didn’t want to tell them or you the truth: She. Didn’t. Want. You.”

For a short time we were both silent with the sound of the campfire crackling between us. The heavy campfire smoke passing me by made my eyes and throat sting dryly.

“What I want to know,” said Cauliflower, “Is if you’re going to cause me problems tomorrow? I expect everything to be same old, same old. Will it?”

I gave several small nods.

The next day, I thought about nothing else except for what Cauliflower had said about Miss Waxwood. It was difficult to think the following morning because I hadn’t slept at all. The sinking feeling of dread in my heart that had feared Miss Waxwood would not return for us had become something much worse; something final, like a period at the end of a sentence.

The new count was forty-eight orphans in our age group including myself.

The misery I was feeling broke my morning habit of singing much to the relief of the orphans.

I wanted to forget about everything I had hoped and dreamed, but my thoughts recounted what happened the previous day and the days leading up to it over and over.

On the way down to the river with the orphans following in my wake I heard an odd fluttering sound behind me.

It was Chicory and he was holding a piece of paper in his hand and holding it up to show me.

“What is that?” I said, keeping my pace.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Give it to me.”

He handed it over.

It read: Receipt of Sale, Rosian Doll: Seven Hundred Bunacharies.

The date written in the top right corner of the receipt stated the exchange was made a week prior to Miss Waxwood’s return to Rootwork.