Four days.
That was what the Headmistress had said when Tace was first dragged through the courtyard into the familiar stone building of the orphanage, biting and kicking—the one that she had tried her best not to remember. Four more days until Tace was to be sent to the workhouse, either to be hired out at a factory or a household for labor. She received a blow against the ears, and then a harsh warning from the Headmistress.
If she tried to run away again, she’d be sent there immediately.
Since then, the young girl hadn’t made a sound.
Tace dumped a bucket of soapy water against the creaky wooden floor of the hallway, before getting on her knees and beginning to scrub. Strands of her curly hair viciously stuck out of her mob cap, and a thick ring of sweat settled around her forehead in the hot humid air. She could hear the faint laughter of children through the shabby walls, mostly the younger ones being outside in the courtyard, beating the dust out of the rugs—then Melissa Collington’s sharp voice silencing them all.
The Guadana House of Mercy had not changed, as Tace had remembered. Each room still had peeling paint greatly visible on the walls, and the smell of urine and lye filled the air. The windows were so dirty she could hardly see them. Her eyes were wet, but she wiped them from time to time with the back of her raw pink hand, lest anyone dare see that she was crying. She had only been here for a a week, but it had seemed much longer. She did not eat at meal times, nor say a word to any of the children. And no one said much to her either; with the occasional barks from the Headmistress, she found herself in an empty, silent world as the familiar cloud of loneliness descended upon her. She longed for the tiny shack she had finally called home, the smell of fresh pine in the air about her, the snowflakes that would fall upon her nose and eyelashes in the cold winter months.
Did I make a mistake? she wondered. Did I say something wrong?
Her first punishment in two years was a beating for running away. Her second one, no supper for three days, and the third one was to clean the orphanage from top to bottom, without a cobweb or a speck of dust remaining in sight, lest she be punished again. She did not recognize any of the staff or the children around her. She did not look at anyone’s face, because they all resembled empty porcelain masks.
He didn’t want me. He sent me back.
Tace wrung out the rag with both hands, ignoring the lump developing in her throat. She scrubbed a bit faster, welcoming the burning pain shooting up her left arm as she watched the floorboards become covered in a soapy lather, white as snow. She had been asleep in her bed, the next moment, she had been hauled up into the back of a wagon, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. It was pitch black outside, but she had watched the giant’s shack grow smaller and smaller in the distance, until it was no more. He hadn’t heard them enter his home, didn’t even stir.
What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have called him Papa. That was why he sent me back.
A hot tear escaped down Tace’s nose, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand and moved down to a dirtier section of the hallway floor. Her hand gripped the rag tighter. She only looked up when she saw the Headmistress’s polished shoes echo against the floor, the neat hem of her silk striped gown. Melissa Collington’s dark green eyes met hers—almost glowing behind her smudged spectacles that balanced on the top of her crooked nose.
“Quit dawdling. You are much too slow with that,” she snapped. “There is still dishes to be washed and laundry to be done. And you have to help the older girls start the supper and set the table. I won’t tolerate laziness in this house from anyone. Hurry up.”
As she stormed away, she left muddy footprints on the ground with her shoes, her cane tapping against the wooden surface. Tace stared at the floorboards with great annoyance, before wearily getting on her feet to refill her bucket. Outside the window, beyond the city of Guadana, she could make out the mountains, and it hurt too much to look at them, so she turned and slowly made her way down to the well, fighting back the intense stinging building in her eyes.
* * * * * * * *
It seemed like nightfall would never come, but Tace wearily climbed onto her pallet. All of her bones ached from the day’s labor, and tomorrow would only be worst. Dark circles had gathered under her eyes. She had accidentally burned the stew while making supper, so she had spent the entire evening scraping out the burnt bits stuck at the bottom of the pot with a large wooden spoon. The pain lingered in her left shoulder, and she drew her tattered blanket over her head, letting sleep take over her for a moment.
A few moments later, she squirmed with discomfort. After rising out of bed, she quietly made her way through the dark room as to not disturb the sleeping girls, out into the warm summer air, half asleep. Once she had done her business in the privy, she reluctantly began to turn back to the sagging building, trudging through the tall grass. Her bare feet dragged against the dirt in the yard—moonlight settling upon her ragged dress and pale, sunken face. Her dark curls settled over her eyes and nose, and before she could reach for the rusted doorknob, a cold, sharp wind suddenly brushed against her.
The child turned around, observing the dark yard. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. There was not a soul present in the roads, nor near the grass or underneath the trees. Although she could see nothing but the pitch black in front of her, she could sense warmth tightly pressing into her right palm, almost like someone was holding onto it.
Tace wearily sat down upon the worn grass, before folding her knees placing her head into her arms. The crickets grew louder about her. She wished that this was just a dream— but it was one that she wasn’t quite sure she could awaken from. She squeezed her eyes shut.
A hand gently rested on her shoulder.
With an abrupt start, Tace rose so quickly to her feet that she nearly lost her balance due to the sudden dizziness that had settled upon her. Taking a few steps back, she noticed another child sitting next to her. He was a slim boy, with dark curly hair and freckles, although Tace couldn’t exactly make out his eyes in the dark, nor tell whether he was looking at her or not. The boy remained seated, although he didn’t seem bothered by her reaction at all.
“Are you alright? Have you taken ill?”
Tace clutched the hemline of her filthy skirts, wondering how she had not heard him approaching from afar. Lately, she had such a difficult time hearing things lately, probably due to the soft wax within her ears. It had definitely not eased the Headmistress’s voice.
But this boy’s was soft—much more quiet than she expected. It didn’t seem to belong to him. When he stood up, she noticed that he was about a foot taller than her, yet didn’t appear to be no older than twelve or thirteen. He wore well-tailored pants and a shirt, and while he was barefooted, his face and hands were clean, which was an uncommon factor for many of the other children at the Guadana House of Mercy. Was he an orphan?
She just wanted to get back to bed. The Headmistress had assigned her for dish duty tomorrow, and she had been looking forward to perhaps snatching bits of food off the dirty pots and pans to fill up her stomach some.
He took a step closer, but Tace moved away, preparing to take off. She had not forgotten her encounter with those boys on the streets, and this time, she knew she was able to run much longer and faster than before. During her trips to the mountains, Papa had said—
The boy gave her a crooked smile. There was a smattering of freckles across his nose, like someone had dashed brown sugar on his face. “Nay, you’re just hungry. But hunger is a disease itself.”
Tace bit her tongue. She had no patience for this.
After giving the boy a hard look, she began to head to the steps leading towards the Guadana House of Mercy, wondering why he was out here. Wasn’t he worried about being seen? Then they’d both be caught and receive a thrashing. But before she reached the rusted railing, she felt his hand wrap around hers, nearly jerking her backwards.
”W-wait.”
Tace slowly turned around.
”I…I’m not here to harm you, despite what you may think. I only wish to help.”
She wanted to perhaps scream, kick, bite, do something—but she was so exhausted that she struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt him come closer, wrap his arm around her shoulder, and the gesture was indeed comforting, despite the caution she usually held against strangers. The boy’s hand tightened around her own, his sweaty fingers seeming to expand. Tace briefly closed her eyes, then opened them once more. She noticed that when he spoke, he was missing a front tooth. He faintly smelled of stale urine and sweat, and the thick night air caught into his throat.
“My folks be fighting awful bad,” he whispered in her ear. “I take walks to get away from it all. You look mighty hungry, and I don’t think you want to go back in there.” He then pointed towards the dark road. “It’s quite a bit away, but my house is close to the edge of town, not that far between Herskes and Calibee. Why not come by for a good meal and rest a spell? My parents are asleep now. And you shall be upon your way by morn. Come.”
Tace yawned, before mumbling something. What was supposed to be words came out as incoherent, and she couldn’t figure out why. She wrinkled her nose and wanted to pull away from him—the brief aroma of urine was much more prominent than before.
“Shhh,” he murmured, “ ‘Tis alright.”
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The young girl blinked and rubbed her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid. My name’s Stephen,” the boy said in a hushed tone. “My folks won’t mind.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t burden yourself, now. Come.”
Did you say Herskes? Tace wanted to ask, but their footsteps fell in sync with the dirt below, and it almost seemed as if she wasn’t walking, but gliding, her long skirts swishing about her muddy bare feet. He began to softly hum a familiar tune that she had once heard, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. She could still feel the weight of his arm supporting her, and as she unconsciously leaned her head against his shoulder, still fighting to keep awake, she thought she heard him faintly whisper one more thing before she slipped into the darkness.
“ ‘Tis alright. I give you my word.”
* * * * * * *
Melissa Collington leaned back into her chair and stretched her sore back. She placed her reading spectacles down on the table after setting her ink-covered quill down. With a heavy yawn, she studied the scrawled numbers on the page, then the meager savings that she had accumulated for herself. A scowl fell across her face as she pushed aside her dinner plate, which consisted of cold veal and mutton. With how much the children were eating each day, she could barely keep up with food, let alone clothing. And a staff member had the nerve to ask her for a raise the other day. The donations from the church would only hold up for so long, as the copper coins would seem to slip right between her chubby fingers once she opened the white cream envelopes covered with red wax seals.
The ungrateful little brats, Melissa thought, rapidly waving a fan beside her sweaty face. This heat was only making her all the more cross, and she recalled how she and her twin sister Susan grew up by the river with their mother, how they could swim whenever they wished or go ice skating in the winter. The bolt of nostalgia made her left eye slightly twitch at the memory—she had recently gotten into a terrible fight with her within the previous week. Melissa had sent her a letter asking for her pardon and to aid her with running the Guadana House of Mercy. She wasn’t exactly sure what had made her snap. Perhaps it was the news of Susan getting married that stuck a nerve, and good riddance to her, for hardly being there when she needed her.
”Blast it all,” she muttered to herself. She set down the fan and stumbled to her feet, grasping her cane.
The silence of the orphanage slightly unnerved her. For as long as Melissa could remember, it had always been loud. The children probably were more exhausted than usual, as she was used to sending night owls back to their quarters after catching them either attempting to sneak a bite from the kitchen or go outside. Her shoes echoed across the clean wooden floor and double checked to see that the front door was locked. She quietly peeked into their rooms, just barely opening the door a creak, where their soft snores echoed against the wall.
How on earth are they sleeping so soundly? she thought, wearily trudging back down the hall. Her sweat soaked petticoat clung to her large stomach. Even the little ones are still.
Melissa carried the candle out of her study and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small glass mirror hanging upon the cracked wall. She cleared a strand of red hair from her face and tucked it behind her stained mob cap, observing her worn features for a moment. Her twenty-seventh birthday had recently passed; she found it to be the cursed features she inherited from her mother that kept her from securing a proper husband. Her dark green eyes fell, before she stiffly reached for her cane. There were a few spirits down in the cellar waiting for her. May haps a bit of brandy could clear her head, distract her from this wretched heat, from the lingering pain in her ankles and back.
It was a common habit; this night out of many only weighed heavier upon her shoulders.
With a relieved sigh, Melissa Collington entered the cellar. The door swung halfway open behind her, the rusted lock dangling in the air. She set down her cane and rummaged past the potato bin before finding a glass bottle with a brown liquid behind a few wooden boxes. Beads of sweat dripped down her face as she struggled to pry open the lid with her grubby fingers, the candlelight illuminating her shadow, twisted and out of shape. She did not notice as the dark shape rapidly skidded across the brick wall.
A clicking sound startled her, causing her to drop the bottle onto the ground. It shattered into a million pieces, but she found herself so weary and hot, that she hardly reacted Pressing a hand against the brick wall, the Headmistress wiped her sweaty forehead.
The door remained open, revealing the empty, dimly lit hallway.
“Hello?” Melissa asked, surprised to hear the shakiness in her voice. It was probably just a frightened little one—longing for a staff member who had gone home for the day.
A wave of dizziness came over her. She wanted to bend down and pick up the broken pieces, but her stomach churned, and she regretted eating supper. She just needed to step outside for some fresh air.
As the room in the cellar continued to warp, Melissa stumbled forward. She just had to get to the door, get some fresh air. The thirst in her throat was one that she had to quench. But the door grew further and further away until she was a hundred miles afar and it was nothing but a glowing rectangle of white light. Through it, she could see two little girls playing by a small cottage, near the cool, bubbling river, the large pine trees. Their red hair glowed in the warm light, running to catch the flowers on the hill. Undeniably sisters, holding hands, laughing, smiling, dancing by the clothesline.
Melissa could smell the river. She wanted to dip her toes in, and suddenly, there was a deep pain in her chest—she could sense tears spilling down her cheeks. One of the girls stopped—the tallest one—was it Susan, despite her being born only a few minutes early? She wore a yellow homespun dress, stitched exactly the way their Mam used to.
Suddenly, her neck split in two, her head hanging down, despite her body remaining completely still. Her eyes were not green. Melissa held her breath as the shortest one stopped to stare at her. There was a giggle, then a burning, fiery itchiness that ripped through her veins. Thousands of tiny holes formed deep into her skin—through the holes, she could make out whiskers, teeth, and fur. Rats, as big as cats, racing up and down her arms and legs and skirts, chunks of flesh and fat and hair sprayed everywhere.
Melissa started to open her mouth, but a rat’s claws ripped out her throat. Her green eyes filled with tears as she kept attempting to scream, Susan, Susan, Susan, over and over again, her dismembered limbs loudly thumping against the ground, the pain worsening each second, until she the last thing that she would ever see would be a bright white smile form in the pitch black, and then nothing. Her cane was broken into two.
Slowly, the candle Melissa Collington had left on top of a sack of a potatoes dwindled, before extinguishing in the air, leaving behind a twisted trail of gray smoke.
The children in the Guadana House of Mercy peacefully slept in their tiny wooden cots that warm evening, all of the meager belongings they had in the world tucked in Melissa’s desk drawer. Two rickety wooden floors below, there was a faint banging against the closed cellar door. A large pool of dark red blood slowly seeped out from below, splattering against the steps and completely soaking the walls and rugs that they had worked so hard to clean out. The banging stopped; leaving the hallway silent once more.
A large rat curled up in the corner, gnawing on a piece of meat between its sharp claws. It released a squeak, before rushing into the darkness, following a faint green glow.
* * * * * * *
Tace slowly sat up.
The room and bed that she found herself in was unfamiliar, smelling of mothballs. To her, it resembled the home of a wealthy person, with portraits hanging on the wall of people whose eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went. A shiver ran down the young girl’s spine, and with horror she noticed sunlight spilling through the window. She flung aside the blankets and rushed to the door, but stopped once she noticed that she was in a small hallway in the kitchen.
The boy was hunched over, knocking at something in the bucket. Upon closer look, she could see that he was chipping away at a large block of ice in a wooden bucket. His hair appeared light brown, and Tace was startled to see that his eyes were a hazel color. His dirty fingernails dug into the handle of the small pickaxe he held, and he turned around, he gave her a small smile—the one tooth missing from his upper jaw.
Crack, crack, crack.
“Morning,” he cheerfully said. “Did you like the guest room?”
Tace scratched the back of her head, unsure of what a guest room was. But she was too nervous to ask. Her dark eyes lingered at the front door.
“You’re at my place, remember?” The boy broke off a large piece of the ice block and placed it on a plate. “You fell asleep, so I had to carry you here on my back.” He beamed. “It wasn’t bad at all. You’re quite light, yet you snore some. You were very, very tired. And you remember my name, don’t you? ‘Tis Stephen. Yet my full name is Stephen Thomas Alonzo Rowe. After my pa.”
Crack.
He tilted his head to the side. “You’re awful quiet, aren’t you?” Then he chuckled. “No need to worry. I’m much of a talker, so you must pardon me.”
” ‘Tis a very long name,” Tace whispered.
”Aye,” he exclaimed, his large hazel eyes glowing with pride. “That it is! And did you know that his father had the same name as well? It’s quite nice, I shall say.”
A long silence passed. Tace stared at the large fireplace—it was much bigger than the one at home.
”You…you never really told me yours,” the boy said. “You do have a name, yes?”
Tace hesitated.
Stephen gazed at her for a moment, before giving her a warm smile. Up close, his white teeth were extremely crooked— a great deal missing from the bottom of his jaw. He came a bit closer, and extended his wet, dripping palm to her. Tace drew back a little, but as she gazed into his large hazel eyes, a calming sensation washed over her.
He slowly lowered his hand.
“ ‘Tis alright if you don’t want to.”
Tace began to tug at the edge of her sleeve.
“I hope we can be friends. I’ve never had a friend before, not even back at Calibee.” Stephen looked down for a moment, his smile fading. “I get so lonely here, when Pa is at work and Mama is asleep during the day. I…” He paused and turned back to the bucket. “When they fight, that’s when I go on my nightly walks. I sneak out the window and imagine all sorts of things. I usually go very far, but always find my way back. By then, Pa is off to work. And I have the house to myself.” He released an exasperated sigh and began to break into the block of ice much faster. Crystal shards flew in the air—his knuckles were bright red.
Crack, crack, crack.
”But it’s not all that bad. Sometimes, Pa brings home sweets from work. When he’s asleep, I can help myself to as much as I want. Do you like candy? I have plenty to share.” He patted his thin stomach. “My favorite are the chocolate squares with almonds in them. I could eat three bags of them.”
Tace held her breath.
”I….I don’t like being alone,” the boy quietly said. His enthusiasm fell, clearly disappointed by the lack of her response. “I don’t like it when Pa leaves me.”
“Doesn’t your mother get worried?” She was surprised by how easy it was to get the words out around him. Her muscles were tensed up with shyness, but his gentle expression made her blurt the question out.
“Nay. She is very ill, so she’s always asleep half the time. I make sure to empty her chamber pot. Pa tells me that if you want to have friends, you must be one yourself.” Stephen drummed his fingers against the surface of the table, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “I….I…I want to be one.” He then slumped on a chair. “I hope I am being one.”
Thwack!
”Where are my manners? You’ll stay for breakfast, won’t you? You must be starved. Pa always told me to never let a guest leave the house hungry. ‘Tis a downright sin. Come, sit down.”
Tace gazed at the spacious kitchen.
The boy lowered the pickaxe, before leaning against the table and popping the ice chunk in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, rolling it around his teeth, until there was nothing but clear slush. With a skinny arm, he gestured at the bucket. “Would you like some?”