by Marian Unn
*****
“He went to town,” said an older boy. It was Mitch, his eyes icy as he spoke to me. He wiped his dripping nose on his arm. “He went to talk to someone about getting you outta here as quick as possible. For the better, as I see it.”
Holding my head high, I spoke “Thank you, Mich.” I nodded, and his face turned beet red as I did. “Now, everyone, I would like to tell you something very important, so gather round.” Scooting close together around my knees the children stared up in wonder. All their little dirty noses and bright eyes brought a smile to my face. It was a true smile. From deep within the very bottom of my heart, it came, from a place I knew well, yet it felt strange to me now. It was as if the feeling had been lost a long time ago. Oh, what joy they brought me, what true, blissful joy!
Truly I see why God loves his children so.
“What is it, Miss Rosetta?” the little curly head girl asked, her big brown eyes sparkling in curiosity, the entirety of her attention focused solely on me. What a tremendous feat for a child! She could not impress me more than with this advanced will to listen attentively!
“Well, you see children if you do not keep tidy than you will not get better. I know cleaning is difficult and tiresome, but a healthy environment is the first step necessary in the healing process. After all, what good is medicine when you are in a place that is, at the moment, a fine host for disease?”
“None too well, I suppose,” the little girl said, her senses soaking up every word I said, every expression I fixed upon my face.
“Indeed you are right!” I patted her head, a warm smile lighting her rosy cheeks. “What is your name?” I asked, leaning down so that our eyes were level.
“Mary,” she whispered cheerfully.
“And a fine name it is indeed,” I said.
“Father named me! He raised me since I was this big!” She cupped her hands together to form about the size of an apple. I chuckled lowly and smiled, “He said that Mary was the mother of Jesus, and he said Jesus was the bestest person ever!” She puffed up her chest and extended her arms wide to emphasize her point.
“This is true, this is true. He taught you well.”
Nodding rapidly, she continued, “He said that because Mary was the mother of Jesus, she was the bestest mother ever, and that because I was named after her I gotta work to someday become the bestest momma I can be!”
“Do you not think yourself a little too young to be a mother?”
“No! No! I already got a baby!” she spun around, waving her hands around, “Everyone one here is my baby! Cause I take care of them!” Placing her hands firmly on her hips, she smiled with the smile only a child could master. Like a star on a moonless night, it shone brightly in this little place.
“You can’t be my momma! I’m older than you by one whole year!” a little boy squeaked. Soon enough they were all arguing on who was older than whom and who was in charge of what. Laughing at their little tiffs, I was a poor example of an authoritative figure. Nonetheless, they all listened to me well enough.
“Now, Now! Calm down. How about we compromise? How about you all become my children, and no matter the age, we all look after each other?” With tiny little cheers, they ran into my open arms, toppling me over. A joy raced through my heart as all the children smiled and laughed as children often do. However, there were two that concerned me. The first was Mitch, who scowled in the corner, with his back to me. He said nothing, as he already begun to attempt to clean up after his many siblings. The second child was the bandaged boy who for some reason shed a tear at the sight of my smile.
Wrestling free from the children, I made my way to the bandaged boy. “We will care for you, too.” I leaned over him, gently kissing his head.
Still for some odd reason he only cried more. “He is burnt!” Mitch scolded me. “Even though they are from years ago and have long since scarred over, if you touch the delicate burns, you will cause him great pain!”
“I-I am terribly sorry.” I reached for him once more, but he drew away. “Can you please forgive me?” The single part of his pink little lips that were exposed quivered.
“He cannot speak, his vocal chords were damaged,” said Mitch. “He may look small, but he is almost my age, I think. He looked under five when he came here. We came about the same time. He, like me, is a victim of the evil King.” Looking down at his meek little friend, he frowned. “His family was burned in a fire by the King’s soldiers, at least that was the story when he came here. Although he comes from the far west, not far from the capital, in fact, your home town as you claim, he somehow made it here to the central-southern lands," he scowled.
“We are that far!?” I gasped in awe. How did I get over 200 miles away from my home? What could have happened to me over these years?
“Yes,” Mitch growled in annoyance, “His burns were so severe he got tossed around orphanages, none willing to pay for the cost of burn ointments and none willing to be the ones who would see him die. Father however did not only have the ointments but the heart to keep him.” His eyes looked past me as he whispered, “He even put up with me.” A little smile came to his face as he remembered some distant time. “Never mind that,” he blushed. “Father is actually really smart! He learned how to use herbs and other natural medicines from the forest, so we don’t have to always call the doctors. Somehow he supports us all.” All the little children nodded in agreement.
“Well, I am sorry,” I apologized once more to the child. “What do you call him?” I asked.
“Well, we don’t know his name, and he can’t tell us. But his hair is dark and-” he paused, “You don’t mind if I tell her do you?” the bandaged boy shook his head slowly, the bottom of his eyes wincing in slight pain as he did. “Okay, if it’s okay with you, it’s good by me.” Looking back to me with a scowl, Mitch crossed his arms. “I don’t think you should know, but as I was saying, his hair is dark and his skin, the parts that aren’t burned, were a tan color. He wears the bandages to hide his scars, only a few actually hurt when you touch them. Those that hurt are on his forehead, all of his left leg, and the bottom of his right foot, which is why he doesn’t walk. The other burns somehow were not as severe. Right. So, based off all that we call him Jelb, for Just e-live barely."
“Correctly speaking, you would say, “‘Just barely alive.’ Alive is one word and starts with an A, not an E,” I said.
“Yeah, well, ‘Jba’ just didn’t make any sense. So, Father and I, who named him, fixed it up a bit. Before, we were gonna add vowels to ‘GCHC,’ which means God Carries His Children, to make that his name. We thought that suited him better, but we couldn’t think of anything, so we thought Jelb was good.”
I smiled, “Yes, well, I suppose it is.” What an interesting little child Mitch is. He reminds me a lot of someone. Yet I cannot recall who. It was not Merek or a child from the town. So who I wonder?
My nephew?
I did not think he was old enough to have much personality yet. Was he?
As my head pulsed as it had yesterday, I pushed the thought aside. I do not wish for another painful distraction in this already confusing situation I am in. No, right now, I must teach and help these children.
Looking to their eager faces, I nodded to myself. Yes, I must make the best of this situation and be a good mother to them.
I must love, I must be patient, and above all else, I must have faith.
