by Janeen Brian
But as she patted Dancy that morning, rubbing his nose and feeling the small bump, she said again, “My beautiful boy. My beautiful white unicorn.”
And that was when she shivered, as if an earthquake had run through her. She had an answer.
But she would need help.
“Mr Jackson,” she said and was suddenly aware of her short, cropped hair.
The blacksmith leaned back. “Is that you, young filly? I haven’t seen you in ages. You been hiding? Or . . . what’s different about you?”
“My hair,” Eloise said simply. “But I wondered if I could ask you a favour.”
“If it’s about a family,” he said, “I’m afraid I don’t have any good news. If it be about those scoundrels that took the paper, I don’t have any good news there either. So if it’s a favour you’d be wanting, it’s a favour you’ll be getting. What can I do for you?”
“Well, first of all I have to tell you some things.”
“I got ears. Go ahead.”
In the next few minutes, Eloise told the blacksmith everything. She poured out the whole story from the second she’d laid eyes on the paper to what she’d seen of Whittering Pond, to the garden patch, and what she and Janie had discovered about unicorns and full moons.
And what might happen tomorrow night.
“By crikey,” said the old man when Eloise had finished. “That be a big story and a half. And it’s shaken my head a bit, I can tell you. But you be a good friend to Dancy so what’s your favour?”
After Eloise had explained her plan, Mr Jackson said, “There be a field outside the wall with a nice, thick stand of trees and –”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Eloise.
“Righto. Well, that should suit your purpose well enough. Now you leave the rest to Dancy and me.”
“And the gates?”
“I’ll fix that with the gatekeeper, too. And I’ll remember the town clock. You just keep safe, young filly.”
“I will. Thank you, Mr Jackson.”
Eloise hurried back with the buckets.
“Just in time,” said Sully, jabbing the point of a knife towards the potatoes. “Spuds,” she said, “and –”
“I know, Sully. I won’t throw the skins away.”
“You’re a good lass,” said the cook. “For a scarecrow.”
The hours dragged, and so did the following day, but at last Eloise was in bed, having already slipped her tunic back over her nightclothes. Would Janie remember that tonight was the night? Would she look out onto a full moon and remember? Eloise stretched her eyes wide, going over and over her plan.
Listening to the clump, clump of Sister Bernard’s fading footsteps after her final check.
Then it was time.
Eloise crept towards the door, letting her fingers feel the ends of the Littlies’ beds to guide her way. Down the stairs, tiptoeing, grimacing in case one of them squeaked, and then unlocking the side door, turning the key as slowly as possible.
Finally she was outside. Beneath a welcome of stars.
A few wispy clouds haloed the moon but there was enough light for Eloise to pick her way across the yard to the tree. At the topmost branch, she paused to gaze at the moon. Then, she took a deep breath and pushed herself off, scrambling and landing on top of the wall.
She peered down. The height made her gasp. There was no tree to clamber down. Eloise turned and, gripping her toes and fingertips into the rough edges of jutting stones, began the slow, terrifying descent. She was hot with fear and beads of perspiration trickled down her forehead.
Eloise made a decision. She’d drop the last section of the wall. The thought of two men somewhere nearby set her trembling and she wanted to be down as low as possible. But she’d seen the stand of trees. And the pond, nearby.
She nestled into the rank grass with its rocky outcrops and waited, ears straining for a single sound. When she heard a clatter of hooves and the clunk of cartwheels, she almost cried out. Her stomach curled up in knots.
“I’ll get the net,” said one man. The town crier.
“I’ve got the gun,” said Mr Strawney.
“Don’t be too hasty. We’ll try and catch it first. That way, the horn will be fresher. Only use the gun if we have to.”
A gunlock clicked. And clicked again.
Eloise’s blood turned cold. She reached around until she found the biggest rock she could hold in one hand. But the smell of the grass was getting to her. When she sneezed, she pushed her nose flat into the stubbly ground.
“Did you hear something?” said Mr Strawney.
“No. Just you getting jumpy. Keep your finger away from that gun trigger, hear me? Like I said, capture first, kill second.”
Eloise’s fingers tightened around the rock.
Then came the familiar chime of the town clock. It was striking the hours of midnight. When the last chime rang out, Eloise looked up, scanning the sky, shifting her sight from each star. Wondering what she was to look for or see from such a distance. Then she saw something move.
She couldn’t believe it. Another shooting star.
But where was the unicorn?
Wait. What was happening? The star was changing shape. It was drawing closer. Now it had a fluid body and head. It had a horn, a swishing tail and was flying in the direction of Whittering Pond.
It was the unicorn.
In no time it would dip its horn into the pond’s stagnant water. It was about to do its good deed for the earth.
Mr Humple bellowed, “You fool. The net’s tangled.”
“That was your job. Look, it’s coming.”
“Help me with this wretched net!”
If the men couldn’t untangle the net in time, would they simply shoot?
Eloise uttered a bloodcurdling cry and, with as much force as she could muster, hurled the rock at the men.
“Hell’s teeth, Humple. What’s that? Someone’s there.”
“Forget it. Untangle this net now or –”
Eloise didn’t stop to hear the rest. She was already racing through the grass, and up to the stand of trees. There, as promised, stood Dancy waiting patiently. Eloise scrambled onto the horse’s back and clutched his mane. “Go, Dancy, go! Go! Go! Go!” she yelled. Still screaming, she charged towards the men.
“What the –?”
“The net! The net!”
Lying low and gripping Dancy’s mane, Eloise kicked her heels, turning Dancy this way and that, all the time shouting wild cries.
“I’ve got the net,” cried Mr Strawney and flung it at Dancy.
Eloise swerved and the horse dashed out of reach.
“What are you doing, you nincompoop?” bellowed the town crier. “Not that one. The unicorn.”
“That was the unicorn!”
“No, it wasn’t. Look, dimwit! It’s near the pond.”
Eloise wasn’t waiting a single moment longer.
“Let’s go, boy!” she cried. She kicked Dancy into a full gallop and they tore at breakneck speed towards the men, yelling at them, scattering them apart and making them spin in confused circles.
And then, as she turned Dancy, in a wonderful blink of an eye, Eloise caught sight of the unicorn. White and beautiful, it dipped its horn into the pond. Gracefully, it then stepped away and flew like a shooting star, back into the night sky.
“We did it, Dancy! We did it,” Eloise cried, pushing her face into his mane and racing towards the open town gates. As soon as they were through, the gates crunched shut and the gatekeeper locked them.
Mr Jackson was there with a lantern and he helped Eloise down from the horse. Exhausted, she leaned against Dancy’s warm flank. “Thank you, boy,” she said.
“‘You sit yourself down on this log, young filly,” said Mr Jackson. “I’ll get both you and Dancy a drink.”
After she’d caught her breath, Mr Jackson said, “Did it work out, then? All your plans, young filly? And were you both safe?”
Eloise’s heart was still beating
hard. “Everything worked out well, Mr Jackson. Thank you.” But never would she forget the sight of the unicorn, pure white in the moonlight, dipping its horn and flying back to the sky.
“Then I be pleased for you. And proud. That be a tough job in anyone’s language. Where did you learn to ride?”
Eloise shook her head. “I’ve never ridden before.”
The blacksmith’s eyebrows shot up. “What? You simply knowed what to do?”
“Dancy did too. We knew, together.”
“Well, I’ll be blowed,” said the old man. “And you think the unicorn is safe? And Whittering Pond be saved?”
Eloise had watched the unicorn until it disappeared from sight. “Yes,” she said. “It’s safe.” She hoped that Whittering Pond would be too.
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing the town crier and his friend here in Whittering again,” said the blacksmith. “Or if they do, they’ll have me to deal with.”
“Thank you again, Mr Jackson. I’ll get going now.”
“Goodnight, little filly. Do you want to take the lantern?”
“I’ll be all right, thanks. I’ve got my stars.”
Eloise dragged her weary feet back towards the orphanage. Her heart ached that Janie wasn’t there to see the unicorn, but perhaps one day, she might write to her. She was sure Sister Genevieve would help give her the address.
Then from somewhere an owl hooted. Eloise glanced up. A light wavered in the bedroom window.
Sister Bernard had come into the bedroom to settle a Littlie and discovered Eloise’s empty bed.
Now, the next morning, Eloise stood in Sister Hortense’s office, with Sister Bernard beside the door.
“I’ll ask you one more time, Eloise Pail,” snapped Sister Hortense. “Why were you outside last night? You will tell me or you’ll force me to reach for my cane.”
Eloise remained as still as her lion statues, full of what had taken place last night. Nothing the nun said or did would ever spoil that.
“Speak, you wicked child,” said Sister Hortense.
Eloise thought only of Janie and Dancy and Mr Jackson, Sister Genevieve and the unicorn.
Sister Hortense pushed past her and grabbed the cane from the shelf.
“Bend over the chair!” The nun drew back the cane and brought it down hard. Whack. The cane stung and the backs of Eloise’s legs burned. “Tell me.”
Eloise didn’t say a word. But she knew Sister would hit again and she tightened her face, preparing for the pain. Then there was another sound. That of the office door being pushed open.
“Sister Hortense! Stop!”
Eloise stayed where she was, uncertain of what might happen next. When a hand was placed on her shoulder, she flinched until Sister Genevieve said gently, “It’s all right. You can get up now.”
Eloise rose unsteadily, looked about and shuffled away from the desk and the chair.
Sister Hortense gripped the cane with both hands. “Will you please leave the room, Sister Genevieve? This child is an evil troublemaker as I’ve said all along. You know nothing about her latest misdemeanour, for which she will receive punishment.”
“On the contrary, Sister,” said Sister Genevieve. “I believe there is another person in this room who deserves punishment far more than Eloise.”
Eloise swallowed. What could Sister possibly mean?
“And that person is you, Sister Hortense. I have –”
“Out! Get out!” said Sister Hortense.
“No, I will remain. I’m glad you are also here, Sister Bernard, because I wish to speak plainly and honestly before you all.”
“Get out. And take that child with you.”
“I will not,” Sister Genevieve continued, “for she is the one who most needs to hear what business I dealt with in the town and what I discovered.”
“You said it was family business.”
“And so it is. But family in a different way to what you imagine. Eloise,” said the nun,“come closer. Sister Hortense, recently a letter, found in an envelope, came to my notice. In it, two things were made very clear. One is that, for almost thirteen years, you have been blackmailed by the writer of the letter, a certain woman who signs herself as Posy F.”
“Ridiculous,” scoffed Sister Hortense. “I know of no such person. Sister Bernard, kindly escort Sister Genevieve and the child outside. I no longer wish them in my office.”
“I also wish to remain,” said Sister Bernard.
Sister Hortense’s knuckles went white.
“Thank you,” said Sister Genevieve. “This person, Posy F, knows you very well, Sister Hortense. She knew you when you were young, growing up next door in the slums. But growing into a common thief, a criminal and a forger. Imagine Posy’s astonishment, when she accidentally discovered you were in charge of an orphanage.”
“Utter lies,” said Sister Hortense.
“And so,” Sister Genevieve continued, “when Posy discovered she was again with child, her fourteenth, she hatched a sly plan.” The nun pulled a letter from her pocket and began to read.
“Hortense, here’s a brat for your orphanage. I got thirteen other kids and don’t want another mouth to feed. If I find out you didn’t take her or sold her yourself, I’ll go straight to the authorities. I know plenty about you and your past history. And I could tell them a lot. So, pay me each month and I’ll keep my trap shut. I’ll write again about the money. The brat’s name is Eloise.”
Eloise’s head swam. Sister Bernard stood as a block of stone.
“Have you quite finished this unbelievable story?” said Sister Hortense, lowering the cane by her side.
“That child,” said Sister Genevieve, “that poor baby who was left dumped in a bucket, was Eloise.” She turned to Eloise. “That, my dear, is why you were never offered a family. Because if Posy discovered you were no longer here she’d go straight to the police. Sister Hortense kept you here to protect her own, poor reputation as Head Sister.”
Sister Hortense stepped forward. “That child was not given to a family because she is evil. She speaks to other beings and defies the church’s teachings of obedience. And you, Sister Genevieve, are a disgrace to the Sisterhood and to the orphanage. Perhaps you’ve concocted this story because you have designs on becoming Head Sister. I hope and trust, Sister Bernard, that you don’t believe a word of this fabrication.” She drew back her lips and smiled at the nun by the door.
Sister Bernard looked squarely at Sister Hortense. “As a matter of fact, I believe every word of what Sister Genevieve has told us. She is a fine nun. Also, at times I have been most concerned when the accounting books do not add up. Now I know why. And furthermore, there is absolute proof in the letter and that’s good enough for me. And never again, will I call you Sister. Because you are not and never have been.”
Eloise thought she’d faint. But Sister Genevieve stood by her and held her hand.
“Pure rubbish,” cried Sister Hortense. “You will all go to Hell for this. I will speak to the orphanage authorities and will see you both excommunicated.” She flung the cane onto the desk and stormed out.
“Let her go,” said Sister Genevieve to Sister Bernard. “The authorities are well aware of what has taken place and have witnessed the letter. Also, they have asked if I will replace Sister Hortense as Head Sister, a position that I have accepted.” She gave a small smile. “So, Sister Hortense was partly right.”
Eloise wasn’t sure her legs would hold her much longer. But suddenly, everything had fallen into place. All the secrets, lies and accusations over the years. And now . . . what would happen now?
“Eloise,” said Sister Genevieve, “shall we go outside? I’m sure you’d rather that.”
“Yes. Thank you, Sister.”
Together, they walked around to the bench at the side of the building.
“Eloise, dear,” said the nun as they sat down, “I’m wondering if you would like to leave the orphanage?”
Eloise’s face burned red. Had Sis
ter known all along of her plans to run away?
“Now this will come as a shock, another big shock. But the couple who adopted Janie Pritchard has asked if you would like to go and live with them. It seems as if they have enough room and Janie has spoken so well about you. What do you say?”
Eloise put her hands to her face, covering the tears that’d begun. “To go and live with them,” she cried. “And Janie?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, I would love that. Thank you, Sister, thank you.”
“I’m so happy for you, dear, but I will miss you very much,” said Sister Genevieve. “And so will the Littlies. We will make arrangements with Mr and Mrs Bayswater, and Janie, to collect you either tomorrow or the following day.”
“Thank you, Sister,” said Eloise again, blinking back a fresh rush of tears. “Can I go and say goodbye to Mr Jackson?”
“The blacksmith?”
“And my friend,” said Eloise.
“Of course, my dear. Take your time.”
“Well, well,” said the old man once Eloise had exhausted herself, telling him what’d happened. “Who would’ve knowed all that, eh? And don’t you go fretting about Whittering Pond, neither. As you know, I’ve not gone outside the wall much, but now I plan to. I be keeping a sharp eye on everything.”
“That’s so good, Mr Jackson.”
Then came the whinny.
“Oh, young filly, I will miss you. But what about Dancy?”
Eloise stood momentarily, feeling her heart start to crack.
“Then again,” said the blacksmith slowly, “think on this. If you be going to a farm, well, maybe a horse could go with you, couldn’t he?”
Eloise burst out laughing. Her eyes shone. “I could ask, couldn’t I, Mr Jackson? I could ask.”
Dancy whinnied again. Eloise rushed over and hugged the horse, breathing in his earthy smell and listening to his soft nickering. She gazed into his big, warm eyes and whispered as if it was their secret alone, “Guess what, Dancy? Something wonderful’s happened. I’ve got my heart’s desire. I’ve got a family.”
Janeen Brian is an award-winning children’s author and poet of over one hundred books. She enjoys writing picture books, junior fiction, poetry, novels and non-fiction, many of which have been translated and distributed worldwide. More than two hundred of her stories, poems, plays and articles have been published in children’s magazines or anthologies. Janeen was the recipient of the 2012 Adelaide Festival of Literature Carclew Fellowship, received a May Gibbs’ Children’s Literature Trust Fellowship in 2009 and is an Ambassador for Raising Literacy Australia (The Little Big Book Club).
