Castle Juliet

by Brandon Berntson

  “Frosty finally raises the blue flag!” Jack shouted in triumph, holding his hands in the air. “One for the stupid kid!”

  Suddenly, Jack was mad with glee. He hurled snowballs—one after the other—in the same fashion. Alice cowered on her side, pummeled, hit, and continued to shout: “Incoming! Incoming! Everybody down!”

  Jack giggled and threw more snowballs into the air where they rained down on top of Alice. Again, she cried: “I’m hit!”—and directly after, Jack announced: “Frosty raises the blue flag! Just keep it high in the air, Frosty! I’m going in for the kill!”

  Snowballs filled the sky. Jack’s mortal-like snowballs rose and exploded around Alice. Alice stood, fearless, sacrificing her body, and threw snowball after snowball at Jack’s structure, trying to weaken it. She laughed, shouted, delivered hits, received hits, and Jack, the whole time, continued to announce: “Frosty raises the blue flag!” In return, Alice shouted: “Frosty raises the pink flag!”—along with several issues of high command. It was a serious battle, a joyful, pleasant, and humorous battle.

  Jack stayed with his strategy; it was working. He lobbed one snowball after another into the air. Between the mortar-like rounds of assault, he stood and tried—once more—to gain the upper hand by weakening Alice’s wall, pummeling her fortress. It seemed, however, to only strengthen her wall instead. The snowballs collided and stuck. In return, Alice’s aim was dead on. Jack took several hits in the neck, chest, and face. He stumbled back, hid behind the wall and cursed the unfairness of girls. All the while, Alice laughed delightedly from her side of the yard, and the battle waged on.

  Jack packed more snowballs together, mumbling under his breath. He was building another round of ammunition when a heavy thud sounded from the wall, making the entire fortress shake. A section of the wall had caved in, and a huge spray of snow showered on top of him.

  “Hee-hee!” Alice chuckled. “Frosty raises the pink flag!”

  Jack looked and noticed a snowball, slightly damaged, the size of a bowling ball on his side of the fortress. Two pieces of the wall had been taken out.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “You’re making cannonballs!”

  “All part of my strategy!” Alice called.

  “Rotten-good-for-nothing—” Jack mumbled.

  Another cannonball destroyed the wall above his head. White powder showered around him. The structure was weakening fast. In order to save himself and the wall, he had to outwit Alice.

  He peaked through the opening she’d made, a slight bowl shape in the top of the wall. Snowballs instantly blasted his face.

  “Ugh!” Jack said, cowering low.

  “Frosty raises the pink flag!” Alice shouted.

  Jack crawled behind the wall, muttering to himself, using what was left of the cannonballs Alice had hurled at him to pack more snow together. He tried repairing the opening she’d made. Alice, he realized, must have built an arsenal, the reason she’d taken so long getting started. When he patted the snow into place, however, Alice was quick to attack. Snowballs careened and exploded off the wall, showering Jack’s eyes and face. He ducked, still trying to repair the wall, and sacrificed the greater part of his body for his fortress, a risk he had to take. He was getting the wall somewhat back to normal when snowballs pummeled his chest. Alice shouted in gleeful victory: “You just keep the pink flag up, Frosty! Alice is winning!”

  “Dag-nabbit, Alice!” Jack said, in frustration. Now, he couldn’t decide whether to keep repairing the wall or throw snowball missiles at Alice. Jack patted the section he was repairing; it was weak, but he’d patched the hole. Ducking out of sight, he patted a ball together twice the size as the cannonballs Alice had hurled at him. In the time it took to form one, another section caved in, the spot he’d spent the last ten minutes trying to repair. Snow showered on his head and shoulders, under his coat, and down his back.

  “Gosh dangit, Alice!” Jack said.

  “Surrender! Surrender!” Alice shouted from across the yard.

  Not wasting a moment, Jack stood up, slightly unnerved, and used both hands to throw the cannonball at Alice. He did it underhand, his aim completely off. The snowball fell at the base of Alice’s wall, not destroying, but fortifying it even more.

  Jack stared at where the ball and shook his head. “Just my luck.”

  “Hee-hee,” Alice cried.

  No wonder, Jack thought. She’d been preparing, taking her time all the while. She’d planned this from the beginning. She was going to bombard him, weaken his barrier, and move in for the kill.

  “Bombs away!” Alice shouted.

  It was like a cartoon. He imagined the cannonball sailing through the air with a whistling sound, announcing its arrival. Jack froze, waiting for impact. Instead of looking up, he clenched his eyes shut and braced himself. The cannonball came down on top of him, sending him to the ground.

  “Uumph!” Jack said, a deeper Uumph than before, announcing his defeat. It knocked the wind out of him, and he swallowed snow. He could taste blades of grass from the ground.

  “I think we’re in trouble,” Jack whispered to himself. “Pull back! Pull back!”

  “How are you fairing, Jack?” Alice asked.

  “Not very well at the moment,” Jack replied.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Only my pride, Alice. Only my pride.”

  But he was resolute. If he had anything, it was this. He was determined, dedicated. He would fight to the bitter end—make every necessary sacrifice. He would do anything—if only he could take out a portion of her wall.

  Like a wounded soldier, Jack crawled across the ground. He cowered low and took his time forming another snowball. This one was the size of the original bowling balls that had sailed through the air earlier. He labored and panted, still trying to catch his breath. The previous impact had tired him out, but he wasn’t about to give up.

  Quiet resounded over the yard. For the moment, the snowballs had stopped flying. Alice was not calling, shouting, laughing, making any sound at all, and that worried Jack. She must be putting together another arsenal.

  Jack peaked around the wall. Only silence and the falling snow. Alice did not make a sound. Jack got to his knees. He thought about the heavy snowball in his hand, and once again, the weight and distance, how much strength it would take to hurl it where he wanted. He had to make a stand, he thought. Forget the wall, the barrier, and the lobbing mortal shells. He had to destroy her once and for all—make a statement for himself, for his soldiers—for his country!

  Jack heaved the ball into the air. Watching, it seemed to travel in slow motion. A tiny grin surfaced on his face. Time sped up. It came down, caving in the center of Alice’s fortress. A huge opening in the wall gave way. Jack threw his hands into the air and shrieked in delight.

  “Ahhh!” Alice screamed.

  Jack scurried out of sight, forming another ball as quickly as he could, as big and dangerous as the one he’d just thrown. Suddenly, snowballs collided, exploded, and thumped into his outer wall. Jack crouched lower. He couldn’t stop smiling. It was a small victory, but one that restored his pride. Snowballs sailed around him, some missing by inches. Alice was using his own strategy against him, just as he was doing with hers. One snowball came down harmlessly on his forearm, another on his ankle.

  Jack finished packing his cannonball together. He peeked around the corner again. Snowballs sailed high into the air from behind Alice’s wall. He pictured her with her back against the fortress, throwing them up behind her like catapults. He had to admit, she was doing a good job.

  Jack smiled, and with both hands, heaved the cannonball into the air. It came down to the left of the hole he’d already made, taking out another section of the wall. Alice screamed, the barrage of mortal-like snowballs coming to a halt. Jack peeked again and saw Alice’s green coat sprinkled with snow.

  “Touché, milady!” Jack screamed, and ducked behind the wall again.

  Alice’s screams were music to his ear
s. He got busy quickly, putting more snowballs together. The snow behind his fortress was sparse with the repairs he’d had to make and the snowballs he’d made. He stood again when he was ready and hurled more. He aimed for the opening in case she peeked through. Alice took exception, however, and stood as well. Snowballs sailed back and forth like white lasers under an already snow-filled sky. Still, Alice’s aim was true. Jack was hit repeatedly; he stumbled back, hunkered behind what was left of the barricade, and put more snowballs together. Every now and then, another huge cannonball sailed through the air, wiping out bits and pieces of the other’s fortress. Both barriers had sustained considerable damage, leaving only a broken, jagged shelter of snow to hide behind. Their faces were bright red from the cold; eyes alight, but smiling.

  “Are you ready to give up, Jack Bristol?” Alice called.

  “Not on your life, Miss Skylar!” Jack retorted, though his arms were tired, his legs weary. “I will die before I give up!”

  “Seal your own fate then, Jacky-boy! You don’t stand a chance!”

  A section of the wall to Jack’s right caved in as another cannonball crashed through. He planted his face to the ground, throwing his arms over his head, the perfect soldier. Snow rained down upon him. More snowballs flew. He tried to stand again to hurl another onslaught in Alice’s direction, but once again, he was driven back as his chest, face, and hands were hit, forcing him to retreat.

  “Frosty is raising the pink flag!” Alice shouted.

  “Bugger on Frosty!” Jack called. “Stupid traitor!”

  The assault continued. Another cannonball crashed through the wall to Jack’s left, all but destroying the remains of his fortress. Debris drenched him again. He lay face down with his hands over his head. More snowballs rained down on top of him. So many, he couldn’t get up without staggering, driven back and utterly annihilated.

  “All right! All right!” Jack called. “I surrender!”

  “Are you dead now, Jack?” Alice asked.

  “I think so,” he said. He might as well be, because he was completely buried in snow.

  “Good,” Alice said. “Let’s get something to eat. All this victory has made me hungry!”

  *

  They brushed off most of the snow, took their boots off, and left them by the door. They hung their coats, made some hot soup with buttered bread, and finished it off with cups of hot cocoa. They sat in the living room with the Christmas tree lit, feeling better and warmer after the hot meal. It had been a long, tough battle, and both had given it their all.

  “You put up a courageous fight, Jack,” Alice said, wearing her sweater, jeans, her feet covered in damp socks.

  Jack looked at Alice over his cup of cocoa and narrowed his eyes, his pride hurt over Alice’s victory. “Hmmm,” he said, contemptuously.

  “Jack, you’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “Hmmm,” he said, again.

  “Jack, it was just a snowball fight.”

  “Oh, it was much more than a snowball fight, Alice dear. If my father had taught me how to throw like Curt Schilling, it would’ve been an even match. But nooooo. You had to go and surprise me with that wonder arm of yours. Who ever heard of a girl who could throw a smoking fastball? You should pitch in the majors.”

  “Maybe I will,” Alice said, smugly, and sipped her cocoa.

  “Frosty raises the pink flag, indeed!” Jack said. “What a traitor!”

  “Maybe he has a thing for the ladies,” Alice said.

  “Yeah. Maybe. I guess you can’t blame him, can you?”

  *

  After the hot soup and cocoa, Jack built a small fire in the fireplace. With the oncoming dusk and the Christmas lights, the fire provided some warmth to the small cottage. The snow continued to fall outside. It grew steadily darker, which made the fire and the lights on the tree even brighter and cozier.

  “When does your dad come home, Jack?”

  Jack looked at the clock on the wall. Looking at it, he thought of Halloween, and how often Phillip had asked: “How much time we got, Jacky-boy?” Jack smiled at the thought. “Not until six, but sometimes earlier. It depends on how busy he is.”

  “Hmm,” Alice said.

  “What?”

  “I have an idea,” she said.

  “I’m all ears and misnomers, Alice,” Jack said.

  Alice frowned at Jack, decided to ignore it, and said, “I think we should make your dad dinner before he comes home. Don’t you think that would be cool? It would be, like, a nice surprise for him.”

  “Alice, I don’t know how to cook!” Jack said.

  “Of course you don’t, Jack. Boys never do.”

  “You’re walking a thin line, Alice.”

  “I’m still feeling slightly cocky over my victory.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Well, what did you have in mind? I’m not sure we have time to cook a goose, a lobster, sauté a couple of rugrats, and have it all done before the great king arrives. I mean the bacon gets in the way, and then you have to make room for vegetables. And then, of course, we have to set the ta—”

  “Jack?”

  Jack looked up, surprised. “Yes?”

  Alice took a deep breath, decided not to say anything about his babbling, and instead said, “I can make something simple, Jack. He’ll like it. We all will.”

  “Okay, Alice. Here’s another idea. Why don’t you raid through the pantry and fridge, and I’ll shovel the walk. It will be great!”

  “Jack that’s a fabulous idea!” Alice said, beaming. “Let’s see…we got two hours. I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen, and you clean up the walkway. It’s boys work anyway.”

  “Yip—” Jack was in the middle of saying, before he caught this joke. “Hey!”

  Alice giggled, and Jack rolled his eyes.

  “Well, it will be great anyway, Alice. Magnificent. Absolutely prospero! He’ll be delighted! Don’t you think?”

  “We’ll have to hurry, Jack, but I think we have plenty of time. Hurry! There’s no time to lose!”

  Jack set the empty mug of cocoa on the table beside him and hopped up out of the chair. He put on his hat, gloves, boots, and coat.

  “What will you make, Alice?” Jack said.

  “Run, Jacky-boy! Run! You’ll see! It’ll be great!”

  Jack opened the front door and disappeared outside like a shotgun blast.

  *

  Alice rummaged through the pantry and the refrigerator, but found only some simple items, nothing she could make of any extravagance. What meat she did find was frozen, and she hadn’t time to thaw it. Apparently, Jack and Phillip lived not on banquet type meals, but simple, easily prepared foods. She found plenty of oatmeal and cereal, milk, bread, cheese, potatoes, carrots, celery and all the condiments you could hope for. There was soup galore. Maybe that was a winter thing. The only thing she could come up with was soup and sandwiches, which actually seemed perfect for such a bleak, wintry day. Phillip, she knew, would be pleased.

  In the crisper, however, she was surprised to find a whole onion and a green pepper, and this gave her a marvelous idea. She’d also found three different cheeses, a loaf of homemade bread—a gift perhaps—from a neighbor, or even Alice’s own mother. She could not picture Phillip baking. Alice grabbed a soup pan, all the vegetables, the bread and cheese, and found a cutting board along with a large knife. She was humming to herself like a domestic wife as she went to work.

  *

  Jack came in roughly an hour later. He’d stomped his boots on the porch and left them outside. He was breathing heavily. “Man,” he said. “I can tell I’m gonna be sore tomorrow. All the cannonballs and throwing mortar-shells, and now shoveling. Ugh! My back is aching and quacking! You should see all the snow outside, Alice! It’s a mile high and ten feet wide!”

  Alice giggled, thinking the cold was hampering Jack’s use of phraseology, because certainly he’d gotten this backwards.

  “Holy roller coasters, Alice!” Jack exclaimed. “It sm
ells dee-lish in here! Whatcha got cooking?”

  “I’m improvising, Jack. How much time we got?”

  Jack smiled, thinking of Halloween again, but didn’t mention it to Alice. “Just about an hour. Maybe less.”

  “Plenty of time,” Alice said, looking at Jack, who was smiling with virtual stars in his eyes.

  “What?’ she asked.

  “Nothing, Alice,” Jack said. “You just made me think of something. I have one more thing to do, and then I’ll come in to help, okay?”

  “What is it, Jack?”

  “A sign,” Jack said, but didn’t explain. He disappeared out the kitchen, ran down the hall, and into his bedroom.

  *

  Jack grabbed some markers from his room and hurried out into the workshop. Here, Phillip labored over and put together various articles of furniture, cabinets, dressers, desks, and shelves for many of Storyville’s residents. He’d even built Jack’s bed, and most of the furniture for the house. Phillip was a master craftsman. He could manipulate and bend wood to his will.

  Jack found a thin piece of plywood, some black paint, and a brush. He was making a sign for Frosty. On it, he painted simply: Welcome home, Dad! When he was done, he ran back inside and showed the sign to Alice, who was gladdened by it. Again, the smell in the house intoxicated Jack. Alice was sautéing onions, peppers, garlic, and even some mushrooms she’d found. The fire continued to crackle and spark in the fireplace.

  Jack went outside, found and broke off two sticks from the tree in the back yard. He fixed these to Frosty, making arms. He used his gloves for Frosty’s hands, then fixed the sign into place. This way, Frosty could hold the sign in an awkward fashion, but enough for his father to see. Frosty looked like a limo driver waiting at the airport for Rudolph maybe, or some of Santa’s elves. Jack imaged names on the signs like: Jonathan Newberry, Charles Crookshank, Melvin Sandwich, Donner and Blitzen. Pleased with the sign, Jack nodded to himself, and noticed it was still snowing. The path he’d shoveled was covered in a thin, transparent shade of white. It looked like dust. From the lights of the house, the sign was illuminated just enough. It caught the glare from the front window, so his dad would be able to see it. Except for what was an obvious wreckage from cannonballs, mortal-shells, and snowball wars, the house, the window, and Frosty were displayed perfectly.