Orphan: Chapter 1 - Fear

Castoria had been blessed with an early Blossom season, and yet Willam’s cactus was dead on his desk. Sunlight filtered into his closet of a room through a roughly cut hole in his wall. The window that was meant to fill it had yet to come. It had been weeks. The plant below the windowless-window adopted a mustard tinge in the light. The lack of wind was all that appeared to stop the poor cactus from molting further. Willam’s desk was cluttered with battered tomes, ink and parchment. There were leaves trapped between the books pages, felled needles and some soil scattered about the potted plant, but Willam was reading somethin else. A tea-stained piece of parchment held his attention.

The parchment contained dashes and tallies, a watering schedule. Willam had been very dilligent detailing how he had cared for the cactus. He accounted for the cups of water he used, the time of day he'd watered it provided by his half-broken clock; there was even a scribble about the weight of the manure he'd dumped into the pot. It was a robust account of how Willam had cared for the plant, and a testiment to his talent in killing the poor thing.

A cool breeze trickled through the window, brushing Willam's mop of hair across his face. The wind failed to alleviate the clammy sweaty sensation Willam was feeling unable to puzzle where he had gone wrong. He loosened the old scarf wrapped around his neck. He reached for his sole cup of water and took a minor sip; he prayed the plant would consume the remainder.

Willam knew his tallies were accurate. Even if the clock was unable to show the hour he knew he’d read the proper minutes and matched it to his schedule. Was it the pot itself? Willam hadn’t seen any leakage, but he knew himself to be careless when reading a room.

He reached for the pot and lifted up the plant. No traces of crack on the sides. No insect or parasites he could see. The rugged cast iron pot weighed heavily on his thin arms. Hesitant, Willam lifted the pot above his head just to be certain. But like tea poured too close to the lip of the cup, some soil poured onto Willam and his desk. He brushed it off his stained brown tunic. He placed the pot back on his desk. There were no cracks, fractures or issues with it that Willam could discern.

Brow furrowed, Willam poured some water onto the cactus. His hands shook as he poured. He tried to hold the cup with both hands to steady himself but it didn’t make a difference.

The plants last few needles, those reminders of a time where it was once full of verdant life, were washed away into the soil. Willam sighed, forlorn.

He shivered in his tunic and denim trousers. He tightened his old scarf back under his chin. Despite the sweat he felt cold. It was as if the sunlight’s heat passed right through him, leaving him with a diminished sensation of himself.

He sighed, wishing for the silence to break. He needed to be rid of this too familiar feeling. It was a cold sinking anchor of an emotion. It was that feeling one had when they dream themselves awake, productive, and proactive; a warm comfortable dream. Yet it is only a dream. Once awoken that hopeful illusion is replaced by a stagnant reality. Reality had not been Willam’s friend for a long time.

“I don’t understand,” a voice spoke over Willam’s shoulder. He tensed up.

He placed the cup of water down with care. He remembered the last time the Care-Takers lectured him over his habit of spilt drinks.

He slid the cup to the far side of his desk to rest against the wall. Only a few droplets spilt out, less than his mishap with the soil at least.

“Like, how does someone kill a cactus? It’s made to survive, like… everything. Like-”

“I know, Jules. Very funny. Har, Har.” Jules laughed at Willam’s reply.

Jules was tall for her age much like Willam but her ability to creep up on him was uncanny. He noticed his door was open, quickly moving past Julia to close it. He sat back at his desk, and breathed deeply. He turned back to his best friend.

Julia was unlike anyone else Willam knew. She didn’t possess Willam’s drab brown hair and gaunt expression, no, Julia Peerdove was bursting with colour and life. She was the best person to break his lonely silence. Still, she didn’t have to do it by trying to make him laugh. Willam always found himself a crucial element in her jokes.

She pushed her fiery mane of hair off her face and across her shoulder. She wore a dark petticoat - a gift from the Headmistress herself - and Willam’s old pair of trousers underneath. Her nose was lightly freckled from the midday sun, trousers scuffed with grass stains. Willam guessed she’d shown the younger children how to make flower crowns again; there was a errant leaf trapped under her hair. He smiled.

It suited her.

She smiled in return and her smile was devilish. To Willam the way she held herself, her smiles and sighs, how she talked, she was like the afternoon sun; an entity of pure energy. She invigorated the dreary minds of other orphans always ready with a joke or the desire to play. She deserved better than an orphan’s lot.

She was like a fire in the night, a candle in a room. She fascinated many but would burn them all the same. She also was vicious with nicknames.

“You really suck at looking after yourself, Klutzy.” Jules shook her head at the dead plant. The dry remains of the cactus withered under her disapproval.

“It just refused to live, Jules. I swear! I watered it, I fed it; I even grabbed some manure for-”

“Wait!” Jules couldn’t contain her laughter. “You what? When did you… Ha!” It was as if she saw Willam hands deep in crap and found it to be the best image ever. Willam’s face turned red.

Willam’s blushing only exacerbated her amusement. A snort escaped her as she put her hand over her mouth to contain herself, the dead plant was absent from the mirth at hand.

Willam began to glare, until he didn’t. Her smile was too infectious.

“Ph you do some funny things Klutzy.”

“You’r welcome to come next time. Nothing wrong with helping a boy out with his crap.”

“Bwaha, I’m sure Headmis’ would love to smell me after that! I’d be stuck on diaper duty for a week, knowing her sense of humour.” They laughed together, and some warmth filled the room.

“Nothing wrong with diaper duty, Jules. I’d know.” The laughter became a chuckle, then a giggle then a set of wry smiles.

“I swear when I’m Found I’ll organise a gigantic garden, just for you Klutzy. You’d smell like the back end of Syd’s cows for a reason that way.” Willam nodded but Jules wasn’t done. “No way you could kill, like, a hundred plants. And, and, I could find you more than those Aunty Jane has in her shop. It could be a travellers garden, it’d be great!” Jules exclaimed. She stood over him, hands on hips, proud of her vision. Willam looked up with a smile.

A melancholic smile.

Clouds passed over the sun outside, and the room began to chill.

“I don’t, know… maybe, Jules. Maybe after I’m forced out if here when I don’t get Found and can’t find a trade. When I may be able to visit. Just, I don’t know. Maybe…”

“Uh. Ah.” Julia wagged a finger at the young man. “No maybes.”

As it stood, Willam was thankful. Jules was here with him. At least for now, their fifteenth season together. Who knew how long he had left with her? His best friend. Some orphans would say his only friend. Willam was scared they were right.

“You’ll be Found Willam. Know that. You won’t need to be pushed into a trade you don’t want,” Julia intoned. She’d said it every Blossom. She had yet to grow tired of that faint invocation of fate. That denial of destiny fuelled by a sliver of a feeling, a belief, that when all is said and done, she has and always will have the power to be Julia.

Willam’s eyes couldn’t meet her own.

“Maybe Jules, maybe. But I don’t think-”

“Now listen here Willam Strange,” Julia interjected. “You’re a young man worth more than half of these rascals and urchins. I’ve seen it, the Carers see it, the only one that can’t see it is well… You.” Julia stopped as Willam hid his face in his tattered scarf. His eyes dim, reflecting the worn fabric.

“Don’t say that, please,” Willam whispered. “Please, I’m fine with being forgo-” He fought down the bulging panic in his throat. “There’s just, no need to, you know, lie; not for me. I’m not exactly, um, worth it, Jules.” His mouth was hidden in his scarf.

It was a ragged piece of cloth with faint traces of what must have been writing decorating one side of the scarf. Once it was a bright red on one side a white with writing on the other, but either from age, wear, or spilt drinks it was now a dull brown. The text became easier to forget everyday and that scared Willam.

His eyes were down, unfocused. He turned his back to Julia, staring at his desk. He could never handle looks of pity. It was just so… tiring.

“I say what I say because I believe it to be true.” Julia said.

“It’s not though. Evelyn’s right that I-”

“Stop it.”

Julia grabbed Willam’s left shoulder, pulling him to face her. Reluctant, Willam turned, half his face hidden in his scarf.

Evelyn’s name always provoked a reaction. He didn’t mean to mention her, but in some part of his mind maybe he did. Willam sat on his hands to stop them shaking.

“I’m not going to-” Willam started, to no avail.

“Stop it.”

His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, and tried again to reason with fire.

“Jules, it won’t change this year, we know I-”

“I said, stop it.”

Willam’s cheek twitched. His stomach felt like a bubbling cauldron. His nose burned as he inhaled. His scarf smelt of a memory, his shirt of sweat. The taste of iron came to the fore of his senses, his jaw clenched biting down on the inside of his cheek.

He couldn’t do this now.

Not again.

“Jules, I need to-”

“Stop. Just stop, Will. It’ll be fine. This is the season, I know it.”

Willam tried to open his eyes but he couldn’t. He would only be able to see her through the tears.

“I need to-” This time it wasn’t Julia who interrupted Willam. The pressure in his throat was too much.

He tried to gulp it down, say he was fine, wipe his eyes. Nothing helped. His own body betrayed him, as the world betrayed him, as this damned orphanage, his screwed-up cactus, his parent; his everything!

Willam raised his arm ready to strike his desk. But in that moment Julia moved into his personal space. She hugged him. He crumpled. The fight ebbing out of his arms as they clutched onto Jules.

“It’s not fair, Jules. It’ll never be fair,” Willam sobbed.

“I know, Will. But it will be, one day.” Julia held Willam’s head to her chest. She cradled him on his bed, next to the desk. He was hunched over, tears falling onto Julia. It was the image of a sister comforting a brother; but Willam knew they were far from related.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“When, Jules? Will that day ever come?” Willam begged.

“I don’t know, Will. But it will; I’ll make it come. For us.” He looked up at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. While his eyes were misty, Julia’s were clear. “For us all, I swear.”

In that moment of vulnerability, Willam felt something sink in his stomach. His head falling onto her shoulder, thump. He felt himself let go of the faint hope he’d harboured within himself for seasons on end. Just as the cactus lost its needles, Willam lost something personal and profound to himself that day. There were no words that could fix him. No matter how hard Julia tried. Not now.

The sunlight continued to fade. The pitter patter of rain arrived as thunder echoed in the distance. Lightning flashed for a moment. Willam’s eyes were dark.

“I don’t believe you.”