“Let me go with you,” Katiyana demanded. “You can’t go alone. How will you get there?”
“I’ll manage!” A look of guilt crossed his face at hearing Katiyana’s silence after that. “The horse knows the way,” he said kindly, leaning slightly in her direction. “We’ll be all right.”
Katiyana watched them ride away, lingering outside the barn, the wind swaying the skirt of her dress. Storm clouds began to gather, blocking out the sun’s light. I wanted to put my arm around her—tell her everything would be all right. But I could do nothing, and Katiyana went inside the house alone. She spent the rest of the day absently poking at the smoky fire and pacing in a circular motion from the kitchen door to the staircase and back again, looking out each window as she passed. Gentle rain fell sporadically throughout the day. How I longed to smell it. How I longed to be there with her, to keep her company, to comfort her.
Nightfall arrived before Barney did. Katiyana heard the horse return and ran outside to greet them. At first, she stood there, looking expectantly at her uncle for an explanation.
“I’m tired, Kat,” he said, letting out a long, heavy sigh.
“Come inside, Uncle.” Katiyana reached up to help Barney down from the horse, but he slid off and into her arms, the weight of his body crashing down on her. They landed in a pronounced heap, the hay rustling beneath them. With Kat’s help, Barney rolled off of her, and Katiyana moaned, holding a sore spot on her side. She struggled to get to her knees, her hair now jumbled with straw. Barney remained on his back, his shirt untucked all the way around, a bottle of ale clasped firmly in his hands, his wispy white hair standing upright. Katiyana finally stood, helping him to his feet and then gently pushing him to a sitting position atop an upside-down crate.
“What happened?” Katiyana asked, pulling the horse into his stall. “Why did you go to the market?”
“I . . .” he began breathlessly, as if he had done the running instead of the horse. “I needed to get help. For the orchard. I’ve hired someone to come every day.”
“I can take care of the orchard myself,” Katiyana responded. “I don’t need any help.”
“No,” he said back. “You can’t go to the market. I can’t let you leave this orchard.”
“But why, Uncle?”
“Because nobody can know about you.”
Katiyana pouted and crossed her arms. “What about the person you hired? Am I supposed to hide from him? What about all these years you’ve gone to the market and purchased dresses and storybooks for a little girl? Have you told no one about me?” She lowered her eyes. “Are you ashamed of me?”
Barney lifted his hand and used his fingers to motion her toward him. “Come here, Kat, darling.”
She knelt in front of him and his hands wandered for her face. “Listen to me,” he said calmly. “You don’t have to hide, not on the orchard. I only purchase things for you from people who don’t know me or where I live. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what?”
Another heavy sigh came from his lips as he hung his head. He thought for a moment before lifting his chin once more. “I’ve said too much already. Please trust me, Kat. That is all I ask. And as for the boy I’ve hired, he’s a scrawny, uneducated lad who won’t know the difference between you and one of his fifteen sisters.” He scoffed at the idea. “He’s a Simkins, Kat. You’ll have to help him. I’ll be surprised if he even knows how to read.”
His face softened. “But above all, I need you to stay here at the orchard. People would wonder where you’d come from. I’ve never told anyone about you, dear one, but it’s not because I’m ashamed.”
“Why then? Where did I come from?” Katiyana asked. It hadn’t been the first time. “Why won’t you tell me why I can’t leave the orchard?”
“It’s just not safe,” he said.
Perhaps Katiyana wondered if it wasn’t safe for her or if it just wasn’t safe at all; plenty of the stories she read talked of danger and harmful people. But they were also filled with heroes and heroines who thwarted them. Nonetheless, whatever confusion Barney caused, however unsatisfactory his answers, Katiyana’s questions ceased.
“C’mon, Uncle. Let’s get you inside.” She gently lifted his left arm and helped pull him to his feet. “What’s in the bottle?”
“Oh, just a little something to numb things up for a bit,” he said with a smile. “That Simkins boy comes early tomorrow, so let’s make sure everything’s ready.”
Katiyana hooked her arm with Barney’s as they walked up the steps and to the table. Under a cream-colored linen cloth sat a slice of freshly baked bread and a bowl of horseradish and onion soup. The tiny white flowers from the horseradish plant stemmed from a glass bottle, resting unevenly between two slats of the pine table. Once seated (with Katiyana’s help), Barney swayed his fingers over the meal, attempting to find the spoon, but ended up with his fingers in the soup. Katiyana retrieved a nearby napkin.
“Let me help you,” Katiyana said, wiping his hands clean and then preparing a spoonful of broth.
Barney reached for the spoon and grabbed it away from her, nearly striking himself in the shoulder. “I don’t need your help!”
Katiyana looked him over, bemusement emanating from her blue eyes and crinkled brow. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
“I won’t have it!” He tried looking toward Katiyana, but missed by several inches and stared into nothing. “I won’t have you feeding me or treating me like a baby.”
A ghostly silence crept into the house after that.
Barney gripped his spoon anew, used his opposite hand to feel around for the edge of the bowl, and went at it again. And other than a few dribbles that slid down his chin and back into the bowl, he succeeded. “I’ll need you to help with the orchard, just as you’ve always done.”
Katiyana nodded. “Of course I will, Uncle.”
“You’ll have to teach the Simkins boy. I’m sure he knows about nothing except getting into trouble.” He dropped his spoon and rubbed his head, his elbow resting on the table.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Katiyana said. “Why are you so upset?”
He tried once again to direct his eyes at her and failed. “My father went blind, and his father before him. I hoped my whole life it wouldn’t happen to me. And now it has.” His fingertips reached out over his bowl to the bottle of ale resting on the other side of his dinner. He knocked it over, but Katiyana caught it deftly and slid it into his waiting hand.
Barney wiped away a tear and stood from the table. Walking across the wood floor, he tripped twice before falling at last into the rocking chair. The chair he had rocked Katiyana in for so many years became the chair he would rock himself in. “The boy comes in the morning,” he said. “Try to get some sleep.”
Katiyana watched him open the bottle and take a drink. She went to him, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek, grimacing when the strong smell of liquor reached her nose. “I love you, Uncle,” she said.
Barney did not answer.
Katiyana marched up the stairs to her tiny room at the top. Only a bed fit in the small space, with minimal walking room around two of its sides, and a little square window overlooked the damp orchard. She stared at the walls for a time—her thoughts deep—before lying on her pillow to cry.
Watching Barney lose his sight put my position into perspective. While I saw entirely too much, he would never see again. I ached considering how much it must have hurt the princess, and waited eagerly for the morning, wondering who would come, and what it really meant to be a Simkins, for I had never before heard such a name.
Jeremy
Simkins
This may be a good place to tell you about sleeping inside the mirror. I longed for a good night’s sleep! The space inside the mirror fit only a chair. I could stand or sit or even lie down if I stuck my h
ead under the chair, but most of the time when I needed to sleep, I sat in the chair and rested my head against one of the walls surrounding me. How my bottom ached at times! So while I’d like to say I rested well that night, I can’t. And neither did Katiyana. She tossed and turned, finally getting out of bed with only a hint of sunshine coming through the window. She stretched and yawned and rubbed her sleepy eyes, abandoning her morning ritual of reading before rising.
The princess wore her usual clothing, a simple calf-length dress that fit a bit loosely on her slender frame. Money from the orchard could not buy the luxuries of brand-new dresses, especially those of bright colors. In fact, Barney most often brought clothing that others had thrown out. She had two dresses made of coarse wool for the winter time, one the color of mud and the other the dark gray of storm clouds, and two linen dresses to wear in warmer weather, although both were the exact same design and color—that of dead grass—so I could not tell one from the other. She looked the same day after day. Once, Barney had splurged on some material that captured and accentuated the blue in her eyes. Using a picture in one of her books as a guide, Katiyana made an apron with a pocket, which came in handy working in the kitchen or out on the orchard; many apples spent long afternoons in her apron pocket.
Barney waited at the table when Katiyana entered, sipping a steaming cup of tea. He’d managed well on his second day of blindness.
“He’s coming,” Katiyana said, looking out the kitchen window that faced the barn.
“Well, I’ll be burnt toast,” Barney said as he carefully set down his cup. He turned toward the side of the house, as if to look out the window. “He’s on time. Fix us some breakfast, Kat.”
A cauldron of water hung over the kitchen fire. Katiyana used a paddle to slide a loaf of yesterday’s bread back in the brick oven. Just as she pulled the paddle out, a knock sounded at the door, jolting the princess. She jumped backward and looked anxiously at her uncle. And who can blame her? She’d never heard a knock at the door before.
“Well, open the door for him, Kat.”
She hesitantly inched her way toward the door, opening it slightly to look at the person on the other side. I wanted to laugh at the boy come to save Katiyana from having to do the work herself. Everything about him screamed puny—little blue eyes, a little mouth and nose, short hair, small hands, skinny legs and arms. Katiyana was even taller than him, and thicker too, which I thought impossible.
The princess opened the door wide for the boy; he looked to be about her same age, maybe a year or two older.
“Come in here, boy,” Barney called.
Katiyana clasped her hands behind her back as she led the boy through the kitchen doorway. She busied herself with retrieving the bread from of the oven and pouring a fresh cup of tea. The boy stood in front of Barney with a sort of confident air; he held his head high, his shoulders square, and actually looked happy to be there.
“What’s your name?” Barney asked, his eyes directed at the boy’s shoulder.
“Jeremy Simkins,” he said, and although everything else about him was small, his voice was not; he spoke loud and clear.
“What do you think, Kat?” Barney asked, turning his head toward the oven. His eyes aimed more toward the ceiling now. “Does he look like he can work?”
Katiyana looked the boy over and shrugged to herself. She placed a slice of warm buttered bread in front of Barney and grabbed his hand, pulling it up to touch the bread so he knew where to find it. “I don’t know, Uncle. Not particularly sturdy, I guess.”
“Thank you for the warm bread, Kat. And sturdy or not, he’ll have to do.” He rotated his head slightly, attempting to look in Jeremy’s direction now. “I’m Barney Whyte. You may call me Mr. Whyte or sir, whichever suits. And this is my niece, Kat. She’s going to teach you what to do. Winter’s coming to an end. The trees need to be pruned before things begin to thaw and buds grow.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy said before following Katiyana outside.
“So he’s your uncle?” Jeremy asked just as they reached the barn.
Katiyana lifted the pruning saws off the hooks and placed them outside the barn.
“Where are your parents?”
Katiyana hefted the tall ladder and stood it in front of Jeremy, leaning it forward until he took it. She looked him in the eye as he continued his questions.
“How long have you been taking care of this orchard? Is it hard to take care of apple trees? Don’t they just grow on their own? Do you know how to talk?”
I’d never seen her so expressionless and wondered how she felt about being exposed to a strange boy, especially such a talkative one. She went back in the barn for the shorter ladder.
“Kat,” he said, still holding up the wooden ladder that towered over him. “Maybe you don’t speak words. Meow,” he said, as if asking her a question in cat talk. “Meow, meow, meow, meow-meow?” He laughed at his joke. “And it’s Kat Whyte? Why not Kat Black or Kat Yellow?”
Katiyana shoved the second ladder against the first, the collision nearly knocking Jeremy over. With bright red cheeks, she ran away from him and into the house.
“What’s the matter?” Barney asked when she entered. “Has he done something already?”
Katiyana cried silently as she stood in front of the table and poured another cup of tea for her uncle. “No, Uncle.”
“What’s the matter then?”
“I just don’t like him.”
“Well, he’s a Simkins—nobody likes him.” His eyes were directed just to the side of his niece. “But we need him.”
Katiyana slid the tea in front of her uncle. Barney held out both hands toward her, and Katiyana shifted slightly until his hands rested on her arms. Her lips quivered, but she remained quiet. “Give it time. Maybe he’s not so bad. Maybe you’ll be friends. I haven’t seen you cry since you were a baby. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll be fine, Uncle.” She wiped her tears. “Drink your tea.”
Katiyana left the house and returned to Jeremy, who by now had already set up both ladders in the orchard. He was climbing up the ladder holding a saw in his hand
“No, don’t do that,” she said, running after him. “Hand it to me. I’ll show you.”
She displayed how to climb the ladder with the saw hanging on one end of the log steps. “Never climb with the saw in your hands. Rest it here or let me hand it to you when you’re up.”
“Why?” Jeremy asked.
Katiyana thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “That’s just how my uncle taught me to do it.”
“Maybe it’s in case I fall. Landing on a saw doesn’t sound like fun.”
Katiyana nodded. “That makes sense.” They exchanged places again and Katiyana held the saw while he climbed.
“Why is my uncle so unnerved by your being a Simkins?” she asked.
The question froze Jeremy, his right leg just reaching the fourth step. He turned to face her. “So I can’t make fun of your name, but you can make fun of mine?”
“I wasn’t making fun,” Katiyana said. “I only asked a question.”
“How about I don’t make fun of you anymore and you don’t ask any questions about my name?” He held out his hand.
Katiyana looked at his smooth, clean hand. She glanced down at her own—rough, calloused, and dirt-stained. The contrast amazed me; it appeared the boy had never worked a day in his life. Jeremy’s eyes remained steady on hers until she accepted his flawless, outstretched hand.
Over the next few days, the two formed a routine: Jeremy came, they fed the animals, pruned apple trees, ate lunch with Barney, pruned more apple trees, fed the animals, and said good-bye.
Time flitted by. Day after day, year after year, they worked side by side—pruning apple trees that dotted a rocky expanse of land before spring; harvesting in the fall; sweltering i
n the summer heat as they cut back the fruit of overburdened branches; breathing out white puffs of air in the winter as they cared for the animals and waited for spring.
The children grew; Katiyana filled out some, transforming into the most beautiful, dark-haired girl I’d ever seen, with bright, eager eyes and even, olive-toned skin. Jeremy passed Katiyana in height and size within a couple of years and now stood a fine-looking, strong young man. The hard work of such a large orchard had been good for his physique. His hair had darkened some underneath, but blonde strands endured on the outermost layer, evidence of his long days spent under the hot sun. It framed his face and fell to his jaw in jagged ends.
While Katiyana and Jeremy grew in beauty and young life, Barney deteriorated. He yielded to despair time and time again; he constantly asked Jeremy to replace his bottle of ale, and slowly, gradually, he became unrecognizable. He would yell at Katiyana for something as small as not having his meal ready exactly when he wanted it, and then, once Katiyana went back outside, he agonized over how poorly he’d treated her. He’d rock in his chair, crying, mumbling apologies to his dead nephew. And then he’d pick up his bottle and drink some more. To his credit, yelling was the worst Barney did. But seeing how often he drank, watching the degenerating effect it had, I feared more would come of it.
One day, Jeremy arrived as usual, smiling huge at seeing Katiyana. They’d become quite fond of each other over the years.
“What’s that?” Katiyana asked when she saw him, returning the smile. She stopped pumping water long enough to get a look at the basket he carried.
“I made us a picnic,” he said.
When Jeremy got close enough, Katiyana reached her hand into the bucket of water and splashed some in his face. “What for?”
He splashed her back. “Does there need to be a reason?” He opened the basket for her to look.
“Jam?” she asked in astonishment. “And honey? Where did you get all of this?”
“From the market yesterday.”
A look of fear formed on Katiyana’s face. “You didn’t use Barney’s money, did you?”
Snow Whyte and the Queen of Mayhem Page 3
