by Janeen Brian
“It’s only . . .” Janie Pritchard went on, “I don’t understand anything yet. And . . . I don’t want to get into trouble, so if you told me, then –”
“It’s nothing to do with you. You’ll be all right. Sister likes you.”
“Does she?” said the girl. “It’s just . . . everything’s so different. And you’re the only one I can talk to.”
“I don’t feel like talking,” Eloise said in a crisp voice. “Here’s the pump. You fill your buckets and then I’ll fill mine.”
From the field came the whinny. The sound pulled on Eloise’s heartstrings. But if she walked across to the horse, she was sure she wouldn’t be walking alone.
In the forge, Mr Jackson was hammering at a piece of metal, although he had his back to her, so wouldn’t know she was there. The paper was there, though, on the bench. Eloise sighed. She couldn’t go and study it. Not with the girl around.
She also wanted to ask Mr Jackson if he knew whether there were families in other townships who might need a girl. Perhaps she could summon up courage to also ask the town crier. He’d know all about the comings and goings in different villages. But because he travelled, Eloise was uncertain when he’d return to Whittering.
Dancy continued to whinny. Eloise tried to ignore it but finally, as the girl was filling one of her buckets, she said in an offhand manner, “I might go and pat that horse while I’m waiting.”
She ran as fast as she could in her boots, rubbed Dancy’s nose, offered him a clump of grass and patted his forelock. “I have to go. Bye, Dancy,” she whispered.
The blacksmith gave a wave, but Eloise simply waved back.
Time rolled on, slow and monotonous. And then one day something happened that gave Eloise a chance to be on her own.
It was a calm day with no wind. There was a chance of sun, but the morning was still chilly and very few birds sang, as if they were waiting for their throats to warm up.
Janie walked beside Eloise, stepping lightly across the cobblestones and huffing at her long fringe.
“Do you have to keep doing that?” said Eloise.
“What? What am I doing?”
“This.” Eloise pushed out her lower lip and blew a noisy puff of air upwards. “You do it all the time. Why don’t you get your fringe cut?”
The girl’s face clouded over. “I know it’s long. But I haven’t got any scissors. My . . . mother used to cut it.”
It was the word mother that caught Eloise off guard. So, the girl had had a mother not long ago, although now her fringe was long. Unlike her, whose mother may or may not have written a note stating Eloise’s name, over twelve years ago.
The girl’s face began to crumple.
“Get Sister Bernard to cut it,” Eloise said. “She cuts the Littlies’ hair. Sister Genevieve does too, sometimes.”
“She died,” the girl sobbed. “Three months ago.”
It took a second for Eloise to fully absorb the remark. But before she could react, a shout rang through the air.
“Out the way! Out the way!”
A horse and cart careered out of control along the street, the driver yelling and waving his arms. A little girl was about to step into its deadly path.
“Watch out!” screamed Eloise in horror.
Janie dashed forward and yanked the child to safety. Hooves thundered off into the distance.
“Are you all right?” she said to the girl.
The child sobbed, fists to her eyes.
“I’ll find out who she belongs to,” Janie said to Eloise. “She can’t have come far.”
Taken aback by the incident, Eloise simply nodded. “I’ll get the water.” But by the time the four buckets were full, Janie still had not returned. Relieved to find herself temporarily on her own again, Eloise grabbed the opportunity and raced up to Dancy and then across to Mr Jackson.
“Hello, young filly,” he said. “My, you’re puffing.”
“Yes.” Eloise tried to steady her breathing before continuing. “I was wondering if you could help me.”
“So, you’ve not come about the paper, then?”
“Well, yes, but . . . do you know anyone from another town who might like to take in a girl? Me, to be exact? I’m a good worker and –”
The blacksmith looked grave. “Something wrong, young filly? Is there a problem up there, with the sisters?”
Eloise bit her tongue. She didn’t want to say too much. “No,” she lied, “but I don’t want anyone to know I’ve asked you.”
“Oh,” said the old man. “Yes, of course. I don’t be going out much, but I’ll keep my ears and eyes open.”
“Thank you.” Eloise checked over her shoulder. The buckets were still at the pump. Janie Pritchard was nowhere in sight.
“Can I please have a look at the paper again?” She peered at the shelf. Then shifted a few items. “It’s not here.”
“What?” said Mr Jackson. “Oh, no. I remember I showed it to the town crier and that Mr Strawney the other day. They be very interested. In fact they asked if they could have the paper, but I said I be keeping it for you. Now where did I put it?”
Eloise’s heart skipped a beat.
“Aha!” The blacksmith went out the back of the forge and returned with it.
In the next few minutes, Eloise copied the circles and numbers, chipping them onto the rock with a sharp stone, in the same position as they were on the paper.
What does it all mean? What does it all mean?
Janie Pritchard approached the pump. Eloise quickly dropped the stone, wiped her gritty hands on her pinafore and, to Mr Jackson’s astonishment, returned the paper.
“Getting somewhere with it?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she answered. She waved goodbye and was at the pump with a bucket in each hand when the girl arrived.
“I found the parents,” Janie Pritchard said, huffing at her hair. “They’ve got one of those stalls over there and they always tie a length of rope around the girl’s tummy to make sure she doesn’t run off. But today she got it undone. They were out looking for her.”
“That’s good then. I mean about finding her parents.”
The words hung in the air while the girl collected her buckets.
“They’re heavy,” she said.
Eloise raised her eyebrows but said nothing.
During the return walk, Eloise’s resolve to work out the mysterious message strengthened. Mr Jackson had always been kind to her. Solving the puzzle would be one way she could repay him. But deep down, she also felt as if each newly discovered word was like another eyehole in the wall. Gradually it would all come together and the completed whole would be something amazing. It would shine with wonder like the night stars.
Neither girl spoke on the way back. Was Eloise imagining it, or did Janie Pritchard keep looking at her? Particularly her feet. Though, beneath that fringe of hers, she could be looking anywhere.
Eloise heard the sound of clapping before they’d even rounded the corner of the orphanage building. Sister Bernard was doing exercises with the Littlies.
“Star jumps!” called Mamie.
“Hush, child,” said Sister. “Now, Eloise, you’re to scrub the Littlies’ chamber-pots, and use more soap this time. They are particularly smelly. And Janie, you’re to see Sister Genevieve in the schoolroom.”
Janie Pritchard looked at Eloise when she heard the word chamber-pots and opened her mouth to speak, but Eloise rushed off. She could do without pitying words.
Scrubbing the pots gave Eloise time to herself, under a sun that played a hide-and-seek game with the clouds.
Just pretend that Mr Jackson found a family for you. Just pretend.
What would she do next? Would she whisper the news to Sister Genevieve and then disappear? No, that wouldn’t do. There were others she’d have to farewell too. Sully, for a start, the three Littlies, even Sister Bernard. Then, of course, there was Mr Jackson himself, and . . .
The thought of leaving Dancy brought te
ars to Eloise’s eyes. She touched the bump on her forehead and blinked rapidly.
“Wee-pots! Wee-pots!” Polly chanted mischievously as Sister Bernard ushered the children inside.
“I’ll put one on your head if you’re not careful,” said Eloise. The Littlies roared with laughter.
After that, there was cutlery to clean. Janie Pritchard arrived in the kitchen. For a while she stood awkwardly in the doorway, fiddling with her pinafore.
“There’re the cloths,” said Sully. “Spit, if you have to. Sister Hortense ain’t keen on dirty marks.”
For a while, Eloise worked among the clatter and din of Sully’s busyness, but something was missing. The cook wasn’t singing. With a shrug, Eloise tried to see her face in one of the large serving spoons.
A strange, pipe-thin buzzing hit the air. It sounded like a large mosquito.
“I can whistle!” shrieked Sully, thrusting her rolling-pin shaped arms in the air. “Listen. I’ll do it again.” She puckered her lips, and with a look of ferocious concentration on her face, blew a shuddery, squeaky noise into the air.
“That’s good, Sully,” said Eloise, eyebrows raised. More made-up tunes.
“See, lasses,” said Sully, a broad triumphant smile on her face. “You can do anything if you put your mind to it.”
Janie stared at the cook. She wiped a fork and then lowered her head. Eloise paused and looked around the kitchen. What did Janie see? Pots and pans hanging from hooks, building blocks of chopping boards. Vegetables, some withered, in tatty, reed baskets. Slabs of hard bread, tubs of yellowing fat, stone jars sprouting knives, ladles, scissors and stirring spoons. To one side, in the larder, sat barrels and bags of flour, oats and salt. At the far end was a large monster of a stove. Glowing embers flickered through the grate, its grill a grin of long blackened teeth.
It was the only kitchen she’d ever known.
Please don’t let it be the only one.
Sister Bernard walked out of the bedroom with the lantern.
“Goodnight. No talking.”
A moment later, Eloise stiffened. She’s still doing it! Alongside of her, not much further than an arm’s length away, Janie Pritchard lay in her bed, huffing at her fringe.
She doesn’t need to see in the dark!
“Sully’s got scissors,” Eloise whispered. “Or ask one of the sisters. But stop making that noise. It’s annoying.”
“I’m sorry,” said the girl in a quiet voice. “I don’t know I’m doing it. But you’re annoying too.”
Eloise’s eyes shot wide open. She drew herself up onto her elbows.
“What?”
“I try to be nice, but you’re not nice back. I wanted to tell you about the story Sister Genevieve read to me today, but now I –”
“What do you mean?” gasped Eloise. “When?” But she knew exactly when. When she was outside scrubbing chamber-pots!
“And you said we’re not going to have lessons. But we are. That’s why Sister read to me. Sister Hortense said I was allowed to have lessons. But you didn’t come.”
Eloise’s blood boiled. It throbbed in her temples.
“Because I’m not allowed to!” Her words spluttered with anguish. The only special things at the orphanage were Sister Genevieve’s kindness and her lessons.
Now the new girl had them both.
Eloise fell back against the pillow. “I wish you’d never come,” she muttered.
“Do you think I wanted to come here?” the girl cried. A moment later there was the sound of sniffing, a hiccupping type of noise, but Eloise didn’t care. “I don’t know why you’re being so mean,” the girl continued. “I’ve done nothing to you. And you think yourself so high and mighty because you’ve been here a long time. But I don’t.”
Eloise screwed the edge of the bedclothes up with her fists but remained silent. If Sister Bernard returned, Eloise knew who’d be the first to get the blame for talking.
A frosty silence settled between the two beds.
Hours later, Eloise woke, disturbed by Janie Pritchard’s murmurings. This time, however, they weren’t simply sobs or sniffs, they were moans and cries as if she was in pain. Or having a nightmare. All had settled again, however, when Sister Bernard made her final nightly check.
Sister Genevieve read Janie Pritchard a story. She gave her lessons.
The hurt filled every part of Eloise. It threatened to spill out. She needed her stars. Desperately.
She held her breath until she was crouching and staring up into the framed sky.
Hello, stars, she mouthed, not even daring to give voice to her words. She gazed at each star, returning to particular ones or clusters. All the time, she spoke to them of her thoughts and concerns, her hopes and her dreams.
“Thank you for listening,” she whispered finally.
A star sped across the patch of sky.
Eloise froze. Then blinked. It had happened. It’d happened again! She’d seen two shooting stars, only weeks apart.
She carried that joy with her back to bed. And fell asleep at last.
Days passed. The orphanage grew warmer with spring days, but the atmosphere between the two girls remained chilly. Words were used only when necessary. Chores were done mostly in tedious silence.
When one of the nuns summoned Janie, Eloise willed herself not to watch. But she failed each time. And when the girl disappeared into the schoolroom, Eloise returned to her task with a vengeance.
One day, Eloise was cleaning the glass front of the grandfather clock when two voices drifted out from the schoolroom. Eloise polished the glass over and over, straining to hear. Then she halted. Now it was only one voice. And words she recognised.
It was a story.
Sister Genevieve was reading Janie Pritchard the unicorn story.
Eloise’s hand fell to her side. She was still standing there when the voice paused and Janie Pritchard appeared at the schoolroom door.
She jumped when she saw Eloise.
“I’m just going to the privy,” she blurted.
Eloise raised her eyebrows.
“I wish you could hear the story,” the girl added in a softer voice. “It’s about unicorns. When I was little, I believed that unicorns rode on the back of shooting stars.”
Then she walked off.
Janie Pritchard’s words came as such a shock that Eloise set to polishing the glass again. She had never spoken to the girl about unicorns or the special story. Nor her own wonderings about unicorns and shooting stars. Eloise’s legs began to shake.
The girl’s words spun round and round in her mind as she dropped the cloth back in a tub in the kitchen. But despite the intrigue, Eloise determined that she’d still keep her secrets. And they were piling up: her plans to leave the orphanage, the unicorn story and the paper, Whittering Pond and her dream, and the extraordinary connection with Dancy.
Sully’s whistling was shrill enough to cause the cobwebs to shudder, but she stopped to say, “Now, off you go to the garden, lass. Get anything that’s there. Taters, turnips, I ain’t fussy. And you’re to look for weeds around the spinach plants, Sister Genevieve said. So, be off with you. Don’t look like your friend will be joining you.”
She’s not my friend.
Sister Genevieve grew fresh vegetables, but why Sully left them in containers until they shrivelled or grew limp, puzzled Eloise. After grabbing a wicker basket, she strode down to the garden patch and wriggled her hands in the soil. She let her fingers root around until she’d found a few dozen potatoes and nine hairy-looking turnips.
“Sister said I had to come and help,” said Janie, walking up.
“Don’t know why,” said Eloise. “There’s not that much to do. I’ve got the vegetables.”
“Don’t we have to weed around the spinach plants?”
Eloise straightened and rubbed the dirt off her hands. She recoiled. Janie Pritchard had blue eyes.
The girl patted her fringe. “Sister Genevieve cut it for me.”
; “The spinach is over there,” said Eloise, setting off. “What’s . . . what’s happened?” she murmured as she drew closer. It was hard to believe the plants were the same healthy-looking vegetables she’d seen only a few days before.
“What’s wrong with them?” Janie lifted the leaves of one plant and let them flop back down again. “They’re all droopy. Do they need water?”
“It rained the other day,” said Eloise, cautiously aware that she and Janie Pritchard were talking and sharing concerns. “But we’ll give them another drink after we’ve weeded.” However, her agitation grew when she looked at the weeds. Most of them appeared sickly too.
Slowly, Eloise turned her head towards the tree, the wall and the eyehole. Her stomach fluttered and she took a deep, worrying breath. The spinach beds, she judged, lay in a direct line with Whittering Pond. Did that mean anything? Maybe. Maybe not. Her tongue wriggled in the tooth gap, though, when she remembered the few words deciphered on the unicorn paper. Whittering Pond . . . poison.
What was going on?
“You look pale,” said the girl. “Are you ill?”
“No,” said Eloise with a dry throat. But she needed to get up in the tree again and look through the eyehole. The last time she’d peered at the pond, the water seemed duller. But she’d thought it was because of the dim light. How could she get rid of the girl while she raced over and checked on it? The basket was heavy and would need two of them to carry it. So she couldn’t get the girl to carry the vegetables back on her own. What else could she do? Then she thought of something.
Once back in the kitchen, she said to Janie Pritchard, “I’ll go and water the spinach. You go and get another bucket from the pump for the kitchen.”
“My mother taught me manners,” said Janie Pritchard in a level voice.
Sully grunted and snapped a bean in half.
Eloise rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said, in a flat tone.
Once the girl left, Eloise asked Sully about Sister Hortense’s whereabouts.
“I took her a plate of oat biscuits not more’n an hour ago. S’pect she’s still in the office. Why? You in trouble?”
