by Janeen Brian
“What was that noise?”
Eloise coughed. “Nothing, Sister. I didn’t hear anything.”
“I have extremely sharp hearing, Eloise Pail. And I do not waste words on things that needn’t be said. Move your hand away from your waist.”
To Eloise’s horror, the nun ran her hand up and down her tunic. And the crackle of paper, though faint, was audible to both of them.
Sister Hortense arched back and held out her hand, palm upwards. “I’m waiting,” she said.
With mounting dread, Eloise reached down the front of her tunic and pulled out the story scroll. She put it in the nun’s hand, the back of her neck prickling.
Eloise couldn’t face watching the nun read her story. She lowered her head. The prickling rose to her scalp. It didn’t take long before the room filled with Sister’s exclamations, loud breathing and grunts of fury.
Then the nun thrust her thumb beneath Eloise’s chin and jerked it upwards. “You deceitful child,” she cried. “Not only have you told those innocent children a story of a horned beast that belongs to Satan, but you have preserved it in writing. And, despite knowing it was evil, kept it hidden!”
She swooped on a nearby wooden spoon and began to smack Eloise about the head. Next, she rammed the scroll in front of Eloise’s face and ripped it to shreds.
“Demons,” she cried, grinding her heel into the bits on the floor. “Burn them,” she commanded Sully.
“Yes, Sister.” The cook knelt down and scooped up the pieces of paper.
Stabbing her finger at Eloise, Sister Hortense then muttered, “Attend to the Littlies, Eloise Pail. And if you dare breathe another vile word to the children, it might well be your last. Mark my words, you haven’t heard the end of this.”
Eloise walked outside, to where the Littlies waited. Her head hurt where Sister had beaten her. And she swallowed back the sorrow of having her story so cruelly treated.
Why was this creature seen so differently by the two sisters?
One sister read her stories about real and mythological animals, while the other saw them as creatures of the Devil. The walls of the church and orphanage were dotted with religious pictures of all kinds. Nowhere, however, was there an image of a fierce-looking unicorn with glittering eyes and a slavering mouth, seated at the feet of the Devil.
Eloise had a new thought. Sister Hortense had punished her because she’d made up a story about the unicorn. What if she also punished Sister Genevieve for having a book like that in the first place? Did grown-ups do that kind of thing to each other?
How she wished she could speak openly to Sister Genevieve about things. The nun was the closest she had to a mother. But Eloise knew that there were boundaries that even Sister wouldn’t or couldn’t cross. And why should she? Sister had all the other orphans to consider as well. She was only one of them.
Except that Eloise felt little more than a servant most of the time.
Sister Bernard was now limping with the aid of a walking stick. She stopped as Eloise approached, a list of jobs already on her lips. “Water for the laundry. The Littlies’ socks and pinafores need doing. Then there’s gardening. After that, the stairs and banisters need polishing.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Eloise had to fight the urge to turn and run away. She pushed down hard with her feet to keep them still.
At least she’d be in the garden for part of that time. Maybe Sister Genevieve would be too. And there was always the tree. The green of it. The promise of a shifting branch and a secret hole.
“You will take Wilfred, Polly and Mamie with you when you garden. They’re to pull out weeds. Sister’s already spoken to them.”
“Yes, Sister.”
That was the end of sneaking off to the tree. Eloise raised her eyes. Was Sister Hortense setting up a test by having the Littlies garden with her? Were they to act as spies for the Head Sister, telling her anything and everything she said or did? The Littlies wouldn’t understand what they were doing. Eloise frowned.
“Why are you frowning?” said Sister Bernard.
Eloise’s right foot was more painful than usual. She was resting it against her other ankle. There was no way she was about to explain what had been in her mind about Sister Hortense. So she tentatively took the opportunity to ask about a larger pair of boots.
“I think . . .” she began, “I think these boots are too small, Sister. They hurt my feet.”
Sister Bernard looked down. “Can you get them on and off?”
“Yes, Sister, only –”
“Only it is not up to you to request, Eloise. May I remind you of that. Yours is to obey and receive. Not demand. Besides, there is nothing spare. Everything is accounted for.”
Eloise felt the sting of the nun’s last remark. However, at the risk of punishment, she continued. “I’ve had these since I was eight, Sister.”
“And the leather is still good. Now, fetch the water for the laundry, if you please.”
Surely she’d worn a path to the pump by now. After all the years of water carting, surely the cobblestones showed signs of wear from a pair of ages-old boots.
Eloise went straight to Dancy. He was the nearest thing to her stars and to Sister Gertrude.
Gently, she stroked him and whispered her feelings about unicorns and what’d happened when she’d drawn a picture of one on the rock.
“You whinnied at the same time, Dancy. Don’t you think that’s weird? And wonderful? I can’t explain it.”
When she remembered Sister Bernard’s comments about her boots, Eloise grew cross. Surely Sister would see that if she had bigger boots, she would be able to walk faster. And get the water quicker.
I don’t care if I’m punished. I’m going to have another look at Mr Jackson’s paper.
“Back again, young filly?” Mr Jackson rubbed his head with one hand. “You be like a dog let off a lead. Ah, I do see by the bucket. More water, eh?”
“Yes, and may I –”
“It be where you left it.” The blacksmith gestured towards the bench.
Mr Jackson would’ve made a good, kind father.
Eloise sat beneath the tree, looking first at the paper and then at her rock carvings. But the second her eyes rested on the unicorn, goosebumps ran up her spine.
There it goes again! Hurry, Eloise, get on with it, or you won’t make any more progress.
Squinting so hard she almost saw blackness, Eloise looked at the word that followed magic power. At first she thought it might be morn. But then she noticed the tiniest tip of the first, straight-backed letter. It was an h. The word wasn’t morn. It was horn.
Eloise leaped to her feet. Hurriedly she scratched the word on the rock. Was she imagining it or was something starting to connect? A unicorn drawing. The words magic power followed by a small space and then the word horn.
Excited by her finding, she waved the paper and said to the old man, “I think the next word is horn. And that ties in with unicorn! Because a unicorn has a horn.”
Perhaps she couldn’t see any expression on Mr Jackson’s face, but his voice carried little enthusiasm. “Still don’t tell us much, do it?” he said.
“It’s something, though,” Eloise whispered, almost to herself. She replaced the paper and said farewell. With her feet pounding like rotten melons about to burst, she then slogged back to the orphanage. The last person she wanted to see was Sister Hortense. And the second-to-last person was Sister Bernard.
“Time is slipping by, Eloise.” Sister Bernard tapped the fob watch that hung from her waist chain.
“Yes, Sister.”
“I will be in the storeroom. Once the children’s things are washed and set out to dry, you may collect the three Littlies from the schoolroom.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Eloise arrived in the schoolroom sometime later, wiping her reddened fingers down her pinafore.
“If you could pull out the thistles, Eloise, dear,” said Sister Genevieve. “These children can get the
other weeds. And carry the bucket.”
The three skipped out of the schoolroom, but there were fights along the way.
“I should carry the bucket,” said Polly. “I’m the biggest.”
“But I’m older than you,” said Wilfred.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I can carry buckets better than both of you two!” cried Mamie.
“Stop it,” muttered Eloise. “You can take it in turns. And you’ll all help pull weeds or you’ll miss out on your turn.”
Polly giggled. “You sound like Sister Bernard.” That caused the three to laugh, but it set Eloise’s teeth on edge.
She didn’t want to be like Sully. Nor did she want to be like Sister Bernard.
“If you do good weeding, we’ll play a game afterwards.”
“I wish you could tell us another story,” said Mamie as they sat down at the edge of the vegetable patch. “But you’re not allowed to – is she?”
The others shook their heads.
“Why not?” Eloise made the question as casual as possible as she handed out the trowels. The air left her chest.
“We have to tell Sister Hortense if you do. She said it was a secret. But it’s not a very good one, is it?”
Again, Polly and Wilfred shook their heads. Eloise crossed her fingers, hoping that Wilfred wouldn’t suddenly forget and blurt out their secret: about him mentioning her baby unicorn horn.
His eyes glinted, but he didn’t say a word. Eloise could’ve hugged him.
At last the task was finished and the weeds were in the bucket.
“Game! Game!” shouted Polly.
“All right,” said Eloise, pretending to look around. “I’m going to climb that tree over there. And I’ll start counting. You have to hide. And when I shout ‘Coming, ready or not,’ I’ll climb down and start looking for you. And the last one to get found, gets to carry the bucket all the way back to the leaf pile.”
With shouts and squeals, the children ran off. So did Eloise. In the opposite direction. She knew the branches by heart and in a flash, there she was at the eyehole.
Her heart swelled at the view, but as she drew her gaze closer, towards the pond, so her brow furrowed. Was that a trick of the light, or did the pond have a darkness to it? She couldn’t remember it being so dull. Then again, the sun was merely a silvery gleam in the sky, not bursting with yellow warmth. A wading bird stalked about, dipping its beak in the water.
Eloise looked through the branches. Not one Littlie in sight. ‘Coming, ready or not!’ she bellowed. A faint titter of excitement met her ears.
Mamie. She’ll be easy to find.
Wilfred turned out to be the hardest. And the last. Proudly he carried the bucket and tipped the weeds onto the pile of leaves behind the privies.
“Can we play the game again?” begged Polly.
“Perhaps another day,” said Eloise as they walked towards the side steps. “Will it be a secret?” asked Mamie.
Eloise thought. Better to hand over the decision to the Littlies. It might help to keep it quiet. “Do you want it to be?” she asked.
“YES!” came the loud chorus.
Eloise laughed. “Then it is,” she said, and the Littlies nodded, grinning.
That night, she dared get out of bed to talk to her stars. She stayed low in the shadows, peering upwards and telling the twinkling lights all her thoughts, wishes, concerns and dreams.
Little by little they answered. And so warm were their responses, Eloise did something she’d never ever done before. She grabbed her jacket and boots from the bedside cabinet and headed to the dark outside.
The side door was locked, but the heavy key gave a satisfying click when Eloise eased it open. Once outside, the sudden freshness caught her unawares and she shivered. But there they all were. Her stars, spread out across the night sky. As free as she yearned to be. Not hemmed in by windowpanes or walls. She opened her arms and let her chest swell to take it all in.
Stepping cautiously, Eloise then picked her way towards the tree. Damp, earthy smells filled her nostrils and deep shadows changed the familiar world.
All was quiet. No breath of wind. No startled bird squawk. The tree branch took her weight as she knew it would and there was the pond. Now a dark stain, with just enough starlight to give it a faint sheen.
Above her, taller branches reached up and Eloise began to climb. It was as if she’d never breathed before. She felt she could fly. Branches swayed until she could go no further and she was at the top of the tree.
But she was also level with the ridge of the town wall. Eloise was giddy with daring and a voice inside her cried, jump. Run.
It didn’t tell her where she would go, or how far she’d make it in her nightdress, jacket and boots. Nor did she know how to find the farmhouse in her mind, where her family lay sleeping and her dog snuffled with dog dreams on the mat outside. But she raised one foot and steadied it on the top of the wall.
Never before had she felt so alive.
A shout. From below, a lantern light bobbed about.
Eloise felt the blood drain from her face. Her fingers clutched the branches. They wobbled with the suddenness of it.
“Eloise!” the voice called again. The lantern approached. One winking eye in the darkness.
“Eloise Pail!” Another voice. The lantern zigzagged closer.
“It is her! Eloise Pail, get down this instant!”
No one spoke on the way back. The door lock juddered as it clicked shut and the stairs took forever to climb.
“Bed,” snapped Sister Hortense, her lips twitching. “You are wicked, Eloise Pail. Nothing but trouble. No family would ever want you.”
The words slammed into Eloise’s heart.
“We will deal with this in the morning. Come, Sister Genevieve.”
Eloise woke to a grey dawn and the uneven clunk of boots as Sister Bernard hobbled into the room, clapping and crying, “All right, Littlies, up you get. Eloise! You too. We need water before breakfast. Hurry. Time is moving on.”
Eloise rose, feeling as if she’d thrown up all night. And yet, deep inside, in a faraway place, was a tiny glimmer of light. She’d seen the stars in their wide, night sky. And she’d climbed to the top of the world.
She struggled with the water, head down, walking unevenly to try to ease the pain in her feet. Dancy’s whinny went unacknowledged. Mr Jackson received only a wave.
In the kitchen, Sully’s fleshy face wore an expression of pity. But her raised eyebrows confirmed what she thought about Eloise’s escapade.
“Some things ain’t worth it, lass,” she said, stirring the gruel. “You could’ve broke your neck. Then what good would you have been to me?” She gave a wry grin.
Sister Hortense appeared at the doorway. “Breakfast, Sully!” Levelling her gaze at Eloise, she added, “And I’ll deal with you, later.”
Eloise was still reeling from the sister’s words from the previous night. Whatever punishment she handed out today, nothing could hurt more than those words.
The moment the nun had gone, Sully reached into a cupboard and pulled out a small, drawstring cloth bag.
“Open it,” she said.
“What is it?”
The cook remained silent.
Tentatively, Eloise pulled at the gathered opening. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder.
“It won’t bite!” said Sully.
Eloise opened the bag fully and peered inside. Her mouth parted. She dipped her fingers inside and pulled out a ragged piece of paper.
“Is it . . . ?”
“It’s all there,” said Sully, folding her arms, her chins doubling up on each other with satisfaction.
“You didn’t burn it?” Eloise’s lips trembled.
“Firewood lasts longer.”
“Thank you, Sully.” Tears trickled down Eloise’s cheeks.
“Don’t go blubbering on me. Or trying to hug me, either. Don’t need that stuff
. Just put it all back together one day.”
Eloise shook her head in disbelief. Though the cook never understood why she loved her lessons with Sister Genevieve, she’d done that for her. She’d saved her story.
“Got anywhere to put the bag?”
“No.”
“Give it here.” Sully pushed it back into the cupboard. “You know where it is. Now, breakfast.”
The gruel tasted worse than ever and stuck like glue to Eloise’s teeth. She tried to loosen it with her tongue but stopped the second the office door opened.
“Come with me, Eloise Pail.”
Eloise turned on her heel and followed the Head Sister. Where were they going? At the base of the stairs, at the side, was a door. Sister Hortense shuffled through a few keys on her waist chain, selected one and turned it in the lock.
“Get inside.”
Eloise stood dumbfounded. She looked in. It was a small, dim storeroom of sorts, the door so low she’d need to bend to enter.
“What do you mean, Sister?” Did she have to fetch something from one of the shelves? Eloise stood, hands hanging at her sides, eyebrows drawn together.
The Head Sister took hold of Eloise’s shoulder and spun her around. “Do I have to list your evil ways?” Her face was so close Eloise smelled the sourness of Sister’s breath. “Not only do you speak in tongue to yourself and other beings not of this world, but you try to turn the heads of innocent children with stories connected to the Devil.”
Keep thinking of the stars. Keep thinking of the night sky.
Eloise stood frozen as the sister ranted on. “You lie, you’re secretive, you’re troublesome and disobedient. And your behaviour last night,” the nun hissed through her teeth, “was foolish and unforgivable. If it was up to me, I would not have you here. But we are an orphanage in the sight of God. And we must do his work and care for each child who passes through our doors. Therefore, we must raise the good and punish the evil. And bad behaviour is evil. So you, Eloise Pail, will change your ways or suffer a life of damnation.” She gave Eloise a hard push. “Now, get inside and repent your sins.”
“Sister Hortense!”
Eloise paused, swallowing hard.
