Eloise and the Bucket of Stars

by Janeen Brian

  “What perfect timing,” said Sister Genevieve, stepping out and closing the door behind her. “Come with me.”

  Eloise followed, curious as to which room they’d be using.

  “In here,” said Sister, and she unlocked a door to a small room down the corridor. Eloise took in the little table and two hardback chairs. On the table was a pile of materials, scissors, cotton and a packet of needles. Sister indicated the narrow window. “If we’re lucky, the sun might sneak in and warm us,” she said.

  Eloise clasped her hands. “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “Take a seat, dear. The first thing to do is to measure and cut the right size for the cushion cover. That can be your job.”

  Eloise had expected to immediately start sewing, but it would be important to get the measurements right. Sister Genevieve had shown trust in her. And she wouldn’t let her down. She measured and checked.

  Once the shapes for the covers had been cut, Sister rose. “That’s all for today, Eloise, dear. Next session we shall sew them together.”

  The time had flown. Eloise had sat in cosy silence beside Sister, relaxing in the warmth and glow of the room. It was easy to imagine Sister being her mother and saying, “We’ll have these done in no time. Won’t they look nice on the chairs?”

  Eloise stood, holding onto the knowledge that she would come again. And that the joy would be repeated.

  At dinnertime, she stared at the turnip, gravy stew, thick with small, lumpy bits.

  Janie glanced at her. “Hold your nose when you eat,” she said, “then you won’t taste them. My father taught me that trick, but I’d never used it until I came here. It works,” she added.

  As they mounted the stairs after dinner, Janie told her something else. “Did you know Sister Bernard fell on her arm?”

  “It was her ankle.”

  “No. She did that too, but now she’s got a bad arm. It’s swollen.”

  “I know what that means,” sighed Eloise. “We have to help the Littlies get ready for bed.”

  “Just those in our room. Sister Genevieve is going to do the others.”

  Eloise dragged some hair back behind her ear, musing on the strange turnaround. Now it was the new girl who found out what was happening in the orphanage and how to swallow Sully’s awful meals.

  Once the children were in bed, Janie remained where she was, holding the lantern.

  “Who’d like to hear a bedtime story?” she said.

  There was a clamour of excitement in the room.

  “Shhh,” she cautioned, “or I won’t be able to tell you.”

  “Don’t mention anything about unicorns,” Eloise said behind a cupped hand.

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  Janie shrugged. “I wasn’t going to, anyway.”

  Instead she made up a story about a grumpy old bear that made friends with the Littlies who lived in an orphanage.

  When it was finished and both girls were in bed, Janie said, “Do you want to talk?”

  “And have Sister Hortense come in? No, thanks.”

  “I’ll whisper.”

  “You don’t have to because I’m not talking. Just go to sleep.”

  “You are so infuriating.” There was a thump against the pillow. “Don’t you like anyone?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “I will, once you’ve told me about the writing on the stone.”

  Eloise’s cheeks filled with anger.

  “All right,” came the voice in the next bed, “if you won’t tell me, I’ll tell you what I think. I believe you wrote those things on the rock. But, they don’t make sense as they are. So I think there’s more to it than what’s written. Otherwise why would there be a picture of a unicorn? Or the words Whittering Pond next to the word poison?”

  Eloise hadn’t intended to move a muscle, but her leg cramped and she shifted it, rustling the bedclothes.

  “So,” said Janie, “either that’s it or you don’t know any more. Maybe you were copying something down and you were interrupted. And for some reason you haven’t been able to copy the rest.”

  The girl who asked questions had given her own answers. And they were so right. Eloise lay stiff, eyes wide. Now, what would she say? Would she take Janie Pritchard into her confidence? She didn’t know.

  The girl fell asleep waiting for Eloise’s answer.

  “So was I right about what I said?” Janie Pritchard tackled the subject from the previous night as they walked to the pump. “About you copying something onto the rock?”

  All morning Eloise had been trying to avoid the girl’s prying eyes and dodging out of her way as much as possible. Now that it was just the pair of them, there was no hiding. However, Eloise was still uncertain about what to say.

  “Hoi. Hello!”

  Janie turned her head in the direction of the wigmaker’s shop.

  “Not you, dearie,” called the woman. “The other girl. Have you had another think about my offer?”

  “Keep walking,” Eloise said out the side of her mouth.

  “What did she mean? What offer?”

  Eloise stopped. “If you must know, she wants to cut my hair. She’s a wigmaker.”

  Janie blinked in surprise. “Would you?”

  Eloise walked on.

  “I mean, why would you?” Janie took a few quick steps to catch up.

  Gritting her teeth, Eloise checked the forge. The coals glowed but Mr Jackson wasn’t in sight.

  If she asks one more question, I’m going to scream.

  “You know the carvings on the rock,” Janie continued, “and how they’re a bit faint. Well, I’ve thought of an idea to darken them.”

  “Stop!” Eloise shouted. “And stop telling me what to do. You’re just like Sister Hor –” She stopped and pressed her lips together, but already the tips of her earlobes burned.

  Janie Pritchard flared. “You were going to say Sister Hortense, weren’t you? Well, for your information, I am not like her. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I thought I was your frien –”

  “I’ve got my buckets,” Eloise broke in, “and I’m going back.” She knew what the girl was going to say. But she was not her friend. She’d never been anyone’s friend.

  Janie put her hands on her hips. “What if you rubbed ash into the marks?”

  “What if I’d already thought of that?” Eloise snapped.

  “Had you?”

  “Yes!” Eloise glared.

  The girl folded her arms, her head to one side, eyes slitted.

  Eloise lowered her head. “No,” she said. The word took a long time to come out.

  “So?” Janie Pritchard widened her eyes.

  “We can try, I suppose,” Eloise said grudgingly, though already warming to the idea. “There’s plenty of cold ash by the forge. We’ll have to be quick, though.”

  “What’s new?” said Janie.

  The two girls exchanged grins, then set about darkening the marks. “That’s better,” said Eloise.

  Janie pointed. “What’s this Whittering Pond? Is there a pond in the town?’

  Another question. How much further should she go?

  “No, it’s outside the town.”

  “Have you seen it?”

  Eloise’s tongue slid back and forth against the back of her teeth. It felt as if she was being peeled, layer after layer, by the girl’s questions. How much further could she go without feeling as if she was bare and open?

  “Hello!” came the call from the blacksmith. “Have you got a minute? I see you’ve got a friend with you.”

  There was nothing for Eloise to do but to walk up, but her feet dragged.

  “This is Janie Pritchard,” she said. “She hasn’t been here long.”

  “Well, hello, Janie. I be Mr Jackson. And I’ve been here a long time!” He laughed. “Now, young filly, I haven’t heard nothing about a family, but there’s more talk about the pond. Townsfolk say it’s getting worse. Lucky we got our spring over t
here, I say.”

  It was obvious to Eloise that not only was Janie confused by the blacksmith’s words, they were also sparking further questions. She dreaded the walk back.

  “We have to go,” she said.

  “Right you are,” said Mr Jackson. “And I got horseshoes to make. Nice to meet you, Janie. See you soon, young filly.”

  “Bye,” the girls chorused.

  They hadn’t gone more than dozen steps when Janie said, “Eloise, how did you know what to write on that rock? Please tell me.”

  “I might later,” said Eloise, stalling.

  “Why not now?”

  “Because . . .”

  Because everything is jumbled up in my head and I don’t know what to do. Or what to say.

  “Would it help if we wrote everything down? I could ask Sister Genevieve for paper and ink when we have our next lesson.”

  It still hurt when Janie mentioned her lessons, but at least now she had sewing time with the nun.

  ‘Yes, it might,’ agreed Eloise.

  When they returned, Sister Genevieve was with the Littlies in the schoolroom and Sister Bernard was in the kitchen. A sling supported her right arm but a large ledger book sat on the bench.

  “Twenty-five pounds of flour,” droned Sully and then waited while the nun painstakingly penned the amount in the book. “Salt. Four pounds. Lard. Eight pounds. Spuds –” Sully broke off and indicated the buckets of water. “Only two buckets in here, lasses. Other two are for the hall floor. That right, Sister?”

  “Yes, Sully. Let me see the water level in the buckets. Hmm. Tolerable. Now let’s move on. What were we up to?”

  “Spuds,” said the cook in a bored tone.

  “Oh, yes. How many potatoes do we have?”

  Eloise and Janie set down the buckets in the hallway. With a couple of soapy cloths, they began the task of washing the great stretch of wooden floor.

  “I’m glad the water level was tolerable,” said Janie, sweeping the cloth wide. “I bet Sister’s never carried buckets of water like we do. Or ever done this.”

  “I used to do the floor on my own,” said Eloise.

  Janie paused. “I suppose you did,” she said thoughtfully. “Eloise, do you think the dates on that rock –”

  “If they are dates.”

  “If they are dates, do you think they might have something to do with the unicorn? Or the pond?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Now, though, would she ever find out? With no paper, the answers had dried up.

  The only way to make any sense of whatever was going on was to write it down. And maybe the muddle could be sorted if it was shared.

  Before either girl could write anything down, they had the floor to finish. Janie’s questions continued.

  “And do you think,” the girl said, “that if they are dates, the circles could be moons. Like a moon is a month, so, the first number or date was 1770 with three circles next to it. And then the next is 1820 with three circles.”

  “Or moons.” Eloise put her finger to her chin. Mr Jackson had suggested moons as well.

  “And the gap between them both,” Janie went on, “is fifty years.”

  Eloise was chewing this over when they finally finished the floor. “I’ll go and get dry cloths.”

  Janie straightened, puzzled. “What for?”

  “To wipe it.”

  “All of it? Why can’t it dry by itself?”

  “It has to shine,” sighed Eloise.

  “My arms,” Janie groaned, sitting back on her haunches. “But, let’s say, if this poisoning has anything to do with Whittering Pond, and if the numbers refer to a date, then . . . 1820 is this year.” She drew her clasped hands up to her face. “So, something could happen this year.”

  Everything that Janie had suggested was what Eloise had been thinking. Only not in such a clear-cut way. Her thoughts were always scrambled like a pile of worms. Perhaps it was the time to talk. To share.

  “If I show you something,” she said, “you’ve got to swear you won’t tell a single person.”

  “I swear on my mother’s locket.”

  “You haven’t got a locket.”

  “I have. The sisters took it away when I arrived, but it will be with my other things. It’s safe.”

  Eloise tweaked her mouth to one side. She hoped for Janie’s sake, she was right. “All right,” she said. “Let’s hurry and dry this floor and then I’ll show you.”

  Both girls sagged at the end of the task.

  “It’ll only get dirty again,” said Janie.

  Nodding in agreement, Eloise beckoned. “We’ll take our buckets of water with us, then we’ll look as if we have a reason to head out.”

  “Phew,” said Janie, carrying her buckets and following Eloise outside. “So, this secret. Has it got something to do with the rock?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the unicorn? It must have or else you wouldn’t have drawn it.’

  “Wait there. I’m going to toss my buckets down the privies.” She heaved one bucket high in the air and, laughing, pretended to throw the water at the closed door.

  The door opened. Out walked Sister Hortense, pushing a Littlie ahead of her.

  “Eloise Pail!”

  Shocked to her teeth, Eloise tried to draw the bucket back in, towards her. But the dirty, soapy water hurtled out. All over Sister Hortense.

  Eloise let out a cry, her mouth wide with horror.

  The nun’s face turned red. Water dripped down her nose. Her arms shot out and she glared at the wet habit. “You!” she blustered. “You are the Devil’s thorn in my side and –”

  “I’m sorry, Sister. It was an accident.”

  “She was pretending to throw the water, Sister and –”

  “There’s no need to protect her, Janie. I will deal with this.”

  A water drop fell from the tip of the nun’s nose. She pushed her face close to Eloise’s. “Nor do I wish to hear another feeble excuse from you, Eloise Pail. You are an orphan with nothing and nobody. And you will stay here under my rule and conditions until I say otherwise. Now, get inside.” Once inside, Sister pointed to the hall floor. “Wash it.”

  “But we’ve just washed it, Sister,” Janie protested.

  “Clearly not to my liking, Janie. Now, find yourself some occupation while this girl gets busy.” The nun then strode across the shiny floor to her office.

  Janie gaped. “I’ll get you another bucket of water,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Eloise. I’d help you if I could.”

  Despondent, Eloise nodded her thanks.

  By dinnertime she was so exhausted, her head lolled towards her plate and it was an effort to sip the bread-and-potato broth, let alone eat it.

  Janie nudged her leg. “I asked Sister Genevieve for paper and ink,” she whispered with a spoon close to her mouth. “I asked her about the unicorn book as well and –”

  “Shhh. Sister Hortense is watching. Later.”

  Finally, that night when Eloise was convinced that not one Littlie was awake, she turned on her side and in her quietest voice told Janie everything. She spoke about the paper, how Mr Jackson had found it buried in Dancy’s field and the strange, unusual connection she felt with Dancy. She spoke about the bump on her forehead and the one on Dancy’s forelock.

  But she didn’t mention her ongoing plans to leave the orphanage. Thank goodness Mr Jackson hadn’t said too much the other day about not yet having found a family for her.

  Janie breathed out a long sigh. “So you copied what was on the paper onto the rock? You made the scratches?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s not all of it. It can’t be. Where’s the rest?”

  “Do you remember the other day, there was a large man, calling out the news in the market square?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, that was Mr Humple. He’s the new town crier. But he’s also a thief because he’s the one who snatched the paper from me.”

  “Oh, t
hat’s terrible. Does Mr Jackson know?”

  “Yes, but that’s the problem. Mr Jackson said Mr Humple, and his friend, Mr Strawney, could have the paper. But only when I’d finished with it,” Eloise hastened to add.

  “So now you’ll never know what else was written on it?” Janie clicked her tongue.

  “No. But there must be something about a unicorn as well. Otherwise, there’s no reason for it to be on the paper.’

  “So we should make sure we get Sister’s book.”

  “As soon as possible,” said Eloise.

  “I could look at it and tell you what I found out.”

  “Yes. But,” Eloise drew in a breath. “There’s something else. The something I was going to show you before the water accident! It’s about Whittering Pond. Janie, something bad is already happening with it and I think whatever it is, it’s spreading. It might already be up to Sister’s vegetable patch.”

  “Oh, Eloise, what are we going to do?”

  Nothing happened for a few days. Then, on Friday Eloise told Janie all about Begging Day.

  “So it’s today?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, do I?” Janie squeaked.

  “Not yet. But you might have to another time, because you’re the only other older girl. Anyway, after the performances, we have to go around and collect money from the people who watched. I hate doing that.”

  The warmer weather had drawn a good crowd and Sister Hortense’s smile stretched from one side of her wimple to the other. The performances went as planned and Eloise sang again to great applause.

  “Here come the bowls,” said Eloise to Janie as Sister Bernard approached, her arm now fully recovered.

  “Yours. And yours, Janie,” said the nun. “Now off with you and be quick.”

  “Stay close to me, Eloise,” said Janie, staring about.

  All of a sudden Eloise grabbed Janie’s shoulder.

  “What?” cried the girl. “What is it?”

  “They’re over there. Both of them! See.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Mr Humple. And Mr Strawney in the orange cap. At the table outside the tavern. Oh, Janie! They’re looking at something. I think it’s the paper!”

  “You mean –”