by James Erith
Her keen eye noted how the stones were generally larger than most other farmhouses in the area and she wondered if they had been taken from the ruin. In any case, Isabella liked the way the occasional stone-free area was in-filled with red brick or exposed timbers. She reckoned it had a cosy feel, especially with the large wisteria that covered the end of the courtyard wall and with the windows which were squished here and squashed there out of proportion to one another. How had this happened? Had the builder simply slapped it up stone by stone without any plans in the hope that it would turn out reasonably well?
Architecturally it was deformed, but perhaps these quirky anomalies helped it blend in to the rocks and the forest beyond. Somehow, she concluded, it worked beautifully.
Mrs Pye waddled out into the courtyard. ‘Go on, tell me,’ Mrs Pye demanded, ‘I’ve been waiting all day for the news – did you make the team?’
‘Yeah,’ Daisy replied, ‘but if we lose I’m not allowed to play again. If we win then they’re going to change the rules for everyone.’
Mrs Pye looked a little confused but opened the door and they followed her in, making their way across the hallway with the large fireplace and from there down into the kitchen.
‘Is that good or is that bad?’ Mrs Pye asked as she tossed some vegetables into a large pan.
Archie smiled. ‘It’s both, Mrs Pye. Wow that smells good – what’s for tea?’
Mrs Pye tapped her nose. ‘Wait and see,’ she said, ‘be ready in fifteen.’
The kitchen was the centre of the house and drew them in with its feeling of warmth – of being used and loved. On the floor were big worn Yorkstone slabs, which bore a glossy sheen from continual use, and above were huge, old, oak timbers – as hard as iron – that ran in neat lines above their heads like ribs protecting the room, although a keen eye would notice that one beam, right in the middle, seemed to be missing.
Fixed into these large timbers were hooks of different sizes which held a range of kitchen assortments and herbal delights, like bunches of rosemary, lavender, thyme, dried meats and fruit. It was almost a mini delicatessen of gourmet foods.
Although the kitchen was a curiosity in itself, the children would point out to their friends that it wasn’t entirely a throwback to medieval times. Yes it was large and tall and made predominantly from stone and wood, but it was always bright and snug.
This was helped in part by two old wagon wheels that were suspended from the ceiling by three strong metal chains. On each wheel rim were eight electric candle bulbs – and being on a dimmer, the light brought real character, especially when turned down. It was then that Old Man Wood’s brilliant stories were truly brought to life, the wrinkles in his old face bursting with astonishing expression and meaning.
Opposite the fireplace was a large white porcelain sink and above this was a Gothic-style window through which they could see for miles across the Vale of York towards the low peaks of the Yorkshire Dales. On either side of the window were oak cupboards and drawers capped with thick worktops, like coffin lids, the grain of which Archie liked to trace with his finger. Above these, at intervals, were wall units where discreet lighting shone down from each recess, gently illuminating the work surfaces. At the far end, on the wall, was the latest addition to the family; a large flat screen telly, which Mrs Pye reckoned was simply marvellous.
Running down the middle of the room was a large, rectangular, dark brown oak table with an immense richness of depth and shine, and surrounding it were eight matching high-backed chairs that were usually tucked in under the table’s edge. Next to this was a brick inglenook fireplace where the old cooker lived. It was an old-fashioned metal range fired by wood, which Old Man Wood lovingly filled up every day from the wood store next to the larder.
Knowing Mrs Pye didn’t like to be disturbed while she prepared supper, the children slipped out, made their way through the hallway and up the large staircase, along the corridor past the bathroom and then up the top stairs to their bedroom, the floorboards creaking at every step.
‘WELL, COME ON THEN,’ Daisy said, slinging her bag on her bed. ‘Show me this amazing thing that’s been in Archie’s pants.’
Isabella pulled her books out of her briefcase and stacked them neatly on her desk. Then she changed her top, slipped into a pair of cotton trousers and brushed her hair. Daisy and Archie watched her patiently from the green sofa, knowing full well it wasn’t worth rushing her.
‘Right,’ Isabella said as she unwrapped the test tube from her scarf, ‘let’s have a look.’ She leant the glass between two books on the table. Three pairs of eyes stared at it.
‘Bit foggy, isn’t it,’ Daisy said. ‘So, does that mean it’ll be foggy?’
Archie raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t be silly, Daisy, this is serious science.’
Daisy giggled and elbowed Archie as they continued to stare at the test tube.
‘Ooh,’ Daisy cooed. ‘Look at those little stars. What do they mean?’
Isabella pulled out her crib sheet. ‘I think tiny stars means that it might be stormy. Here.’ She read it out loud. ‘A cloudy glass with small stars indicates thunderstorms.’
Daisy coughed. ‘Is … is that it?’
‘What do you mean, is that it?’
‘Well, it’s very pretty,’ Daisy said, glancing to Archie for support, ‘but if you wanted to know thunderstorms were coming all you had to do was look at the forecast on the TV. Are you telling me you’ve gone to all this trouble to find out something we already knew?’
Isabella stood up. ‘That’s exactly what that fool Kemp said. If you must know, I think there’s going to be a terrible deluge. Sue and I dreamt about it, so I’m trying to prove it scientifically.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Daisy said, picking it up and turning it round in her hands, ‘but I don’t understand how this will help.’
Isabella sat down heavily. ‘Well, to be honest, I was hoping for something a little more dramatic, like the crystals speeding up or something.’
‘But how would that change anything?’ Daisy quizzed.
Isabella sighed. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping it will give us a warning or …’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Actually, Daisy, I haven’t a clue. I’ve got such a strong feeling about this, that it felt like it was worth a try. I had to do something.’
Archie took hold of the glass from Daisy. ‘This must be the worst scientific experiment ever,’ he said. ‘If Kemp knew he’d tear you to bits.’
‘Please don’t tell him.’
‘I’ll never tell him anything again after what he did today. I don’t know if I can forgive him. What an ar—’
‘Children!’ Mrs Pye’s strange voice was calling them. ‘Tea’s on the table.’
Their sense of disappointment was broken only by the rumbling of their tummies and the promise of a wonderful meal.
ON THE KITCHEN table were four bowls brimming with dumplings in a thick vegetable broth. The children slipped into their chairs and began sniffing it as though they had never smelt anything quite so amazing before in their lives. Mrs Pye pulled up a chair and sat at the end of the table watching them, like a sentry, ready to pounce on any one of them.
‘Have you heard the bad news?’ Isabella said between mouthfuls, ‘Mum and Dad aren’t coming home for half term.’
Mrs Pye’s tiny eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets. ‘What, my darling!’ she said. ‘No. Well I’m blowed – and I’m sorry for you.’
‘Can’t you say something to them when they get back?’ Archie asked. ‘It’s like they’re never here.’
‘Don’t you eat with your mouth full, little Arch,’ Mrs Pye scolded. Then she sighed, ‘You know it isn’t proper for me to tell your folks what they can or cannot do. If they choose to be away, then it’s for a good reason. They miss you just as much as you miss them.’
Mrs Pye said this with as much conviction as she could, but she could see the disappointment in their eyes and w
ondered what on earth it was that so completely occupied their parents’ time. Something to do with old relics, something terribly important. She sighed. In any case she loved looking after them and she counted her blessings. Being here at Eden Cottage was the only thing she could remember. There was nothing else. Nothing apart from the memory of a sudden flash and a terrible pain that coursed through her body.
She only had to raise her left arm above her head or try and touch her toes to get a reminder. By all accounts it was a miracle that Old Man Wood had found her in the woods, miles up in the forest, in a heap, on the verge of death, her face and shoulder smashed, her clothes ripped to bits – hardly breathing – and he carried her all the way home, singing to her, trying to keep her alive.
Old Man Wood still sang it, though she had no idea what it meant. And over the years she’d picked it up:
O great Tripodean, a dream to awaken
The forces of nature, the birth of creation.
Three Heirs of Eden with all of their powers
Must combat the rain, the lightning and showers.
In open land, on plain or on sea,
Survive ‘till sunset – when their lives will be free.
But the Prophecy has started – it’s just the beginning.
And it never seems to end, it never seems to end.
FOR SEVERAL MONTHS, Old Man Wood and the children’s parents nursed her, slowly building up her strength, giving her every support, trying to help her remember her past. But there was emptiness in her memory as if a blanket covered her previous life.
She’d had to learn everything again, although it was true that some things came to her with little difficulty. She had no name, no address, no family, no lovers, no pets, nothing she could ever recall laughing with or crying at.
The first time she laughed was when the babies crawled to her bed and gurgled in her ear, especially little Archie, who was like melted butter. These were her first memories, and happy ones too.
She knew their parents had contacted the authorities, but no one had come forward. After a while she didn’t want to go anywhere else and why should she?
She loved the children, she loved the quiet remoteness of Eden Cottage with its big views over the Vale of York towards the peaks of the hills in the distance, and she felt safe being close to Old Man Wood who, although he came and went, seemed not to have a harmful bone in his body. And it felt right that she should look after the children while she could.
It was a need that ran through her core that was both instinctive and natural. Besides, after she had been found, her face was not one to parade around the streets of Northallerton. Her nose seemed a little squashed and to one side and she had a thick scar on her hairline that made her look a bit like Frankenstein’s monster – or so she’d been told by Daisy. She couldn’t care less, but she was mindful that her appearance might reflect on the children with name-calling and jibes.
As far as her name went, the children called her after the one thing she was a natural at; baking pies. So she was known affectionately as “the famous Mrs Pie”, and somehow it stuck. The children’s parents tweaked the spelling to make it feel right and Mrs Pye she’d been ever since, living in the apartment on the top half of the old converted barn across the grey, stone-slabbed courtyard.
ELEVEN
HEADMASTER VISITS
For such a big man, Old Man Wood moved graciously and unhurriedly like a gazelle. He was light-footed, although when he pulled himself out of an armchair he groaned in exactly the same way as any old man. But his bones never cracked and creaked and he rarely complained about his age. He popped his head around the door.
‘Evening all,’ he said. ‘Smells marvel-wonderful.’
Isabella got up and gave him a big hug.
Old Man Wood hugged her back, closing his eyes. ‘Now then, little one. I sense all is not as it should be.’
‘Correct,’ Isabella replied, wanting to burst into tears. ‘Everything today has been awful. It’s like the worst day in every respect.’
‘No one died, though, did they?’
Isabella was a little thrown. ‘Well no, of course not. But Archie cut his hand and Kemp’s been a total jerk again and smashed my barometer and even Solomon gave us a talking to AND the worst news of all is that Mum and Dad aren’t coming back.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ he said kindly. ‘Tell me again, what is a jerk? I find it hard to keep up with your words sometimes—’
‘A moron, idiot, fool – someone who doesn’t fit in,’ Isabella rattled back.
Old Man Wood rubbed his chin as though absorbing this information. ‘Any good news?’
‘Suppose so,’ she said softly, ‘Daisy’s playing in the final tomorrow.’
Old Man Wood smiled. ‘There. Good for you, Daisy, now finish your tea and then we’ll talk about it. Must say, I can’t remember such strange weather. Feels as though a storm is brewing right bang on top of us. An appley-big one at that. I can feel it in my old bones.’
Isabella slammed her fists on the table, making everyone jump. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell everyone. No one believes me; Solomon, Kemp, you two—’
‘Woah! Chill, Bells,’ Archie chipped in. ‘It’s just that your experimentation is a bit ... bonkers.’
Mrs Pye piped up, ‘That nice man the weather forecaster on my big television said there might be a bit of a storm. Localised—’
‘Arrggh!’ Isabella cried. ‘NO! NO! NO! Not you as well!’
Mrs Pye turned bright pink and looked as though she might burst into tears.
‘That’s enough of that, Isabella,’ Old Man Wood demanded. For a moment there was quiet. Old Man Wood furrowed his brow as though deep in thought. ‘What’s funny,’ he began, ‘is that I’ve been having very strange dreams. Real clear ones about a great deal of rain, flooding, storms. Thing is, I’m so old it could mean anything’
‘Really?’ Isabella gasped. ‘You’ve had dreams too?’
The children stopped eating and stared up at him.
‘Oh yes. More than ever. Shocking stuff too. I should check those apples I gave Mrs Pye—’
‘There’s nothing wrong with those apples, I’m telling you,’ Mrs Pye replied from the end of the table.
‘If that’s the case,’ Old Man Wood said, ‘maybe there’s going to be a storm and three quarters.’ He reached across, grabbed an apple, rubbed it on his jumper and took a large chomp. ‘Now, you’re old enough to know,’ he continued between mouthfuls, ‘that once upon a time there was a great storm and then a flood. I’m sure you will have learnt about it.’
Isabella groaned. ‘You wouldn’t mean the Bible?’ her voice was laced with sarcasm.
Old Man Wood seemed surprised. ‘Ooh. Yup. That’s the one. At least I think it is. You know about it, do you? With a man they called, now what was his name— ?’
‘Noah?’ Isabella added as though bored rigid.
‘Ha!’ Old Man Wood clapped his big hands. ‘Just as I thought. Been muddling that one for a while. So you know about it. How marvel-wondrous.’
Isabella shook her head. ‘Blimey O’Reilly – at least we know where Daisy gets it from.’
THE CONVERSATION WAS INTERRUPTED by a banging at the door. The family stared at each other. They very, very rarely had visitors.
‘Who on earth could that be?’ Old Man Wood said.
Before anyone else could move, Daisy tore off to see who it was. Very shortly they could hear the sound of her footsteps returning.
‘You’ll never believe it, it’s Solomon,’ Daisy said as she rushed in.
For a minute they looked at each other not sure what to do.
‘Well, don’t you think you should let him in,’ Old Man Wood said.
The children headed towards the door.
‘Mr Solomon, sir.’
‘Hello, Archie, Daisy, Isabella. Just a brief visit – to see how you’re getting along. May I come in?’
They led him to the sitting room where O
ld Man Wood was adding a couple of logs to the fire.
‘Mr Wood, how nice to see you,’ the headmaster said as he eyed up the old man. He was just as tall, big and wrinkly as he remembered and had the strangest little tufts of hair protruding from an otherwise bald but patchy scalp. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, the old man looked identical to the first time he’d ever met him twenty-five years ago.
He remembered then thinking what peculiar clothes he wore. His trousers and shirt were made entirely of patches, as though he had never once been clothes-shopping. It made him look like a moving patchwork quilt and he immediately thought of Archie and his curious patchwork school uniform.
Solomon wondered whether they were stitched together by Mrs Pye, who was loitering in the doorway. He strode over and shook her hand. ‘Isn’t that road awfully narrow and steep?’ he said as a way of breaking the ice. ‘It must be devilishly tricky to navigate when the weather turns. Do those parcel couriers ever manage to find you?’
Mrs Pye froze and turned as pink as a lobster.
Old Man Wood rescued her by moving in and extending his hand. ‘Now then, is everything in order? Perhaps I could offer you a glass of something, apple juice, tea, my special rum?’
‘How kind,’ Mr Solomon said, ‘a glass of apple juice will be fine. I can’t stay long.’ The headmaster rubbed his hands against the fire – for a man his age, his handshake was like iron. ‘Could I talk to you, er, in private.’
Old Man Wood turned to the children. ‘Children, would you excuse us.’
The children headed out of the room while the men sat down.
‘You are aware that the children’s parents won’t be returning from their trip until after half term?’
Old Man Wood nodded.
