A/N: He he he. I wrote this for english class and realizing there was a section for Tuck, I decided to post.
A Different Kind of Death
In the village of Treegap, there was a queer lady; some called her a witch, others just thought of her as a recluse. But no one had ever seen her face, whether in the heat of summer or freezing cold of winter. Some had seen her hands and said they were firm, smooth and young, even though she had been there as long as anyone remembered.
She lived in a homely cottage on the outskirts of town, more farming area than anything else and kept to herself. On her rare public appearances, she wore a heavy veil over her face and a hat on her head that concealed her face. Her dress was dull and unfashionable, shapeless sacks of dresses and sad trousers that drooped at the waist. She almost never spoke, unless to say, "Two pounds of ground beef," or, "Fifteen of those, please."
Sometimes the boys in town jeered at her and threw rocks. But she never seemed to notice, never seem to care, lost in a world of her own. As time wore on, the boys grew tired of their game, grew tired of teasing her and left her alone. She didn't seem to notice.
Was she old? Was she young? No one knew exactly. But they all agreed she must be older than most because no one ever remembered her youth, she had simply faded along the timeline, somewhere.
They whispered her name all the time, thinking she couldn't hear them. Yes, they would say. There goes Winifred Foster.
***
The Tucks stopped in the restaurant and ordered two cups of coffee. The waiter smiled pleasantly and served them.
"You aren't from these parts, are you?" he asked. Queer people, he thought.
"No, just passing by." Tuck drained his cup and set it down, wincing. Much too hot. "What happened to that forest, a little ways off?"
"Oh, there was an electric storm, a few years back. They had to bulldoze her all out."
"You know, there was a freshwater spring in there," Tuck said boldly.
"Was there? Well, I wouldn't know about that now, they had to bulldoze her out, like I said." The waiter took Tuck's cup away. "Would you like another?" Tuck shook his head and stood up.
"Say," Tuck started, his heart quickening. "You wouldn't know anyone by the name of Winifred Foster, would you?"
The waiter stared in astonishment and burst out laughing. "You've heard of her? The old witch? She lives on the far side of town, where O'Leary's cows graze."
Mae stood up sharply and walked out the door. Tuck followed her out.
"Mae," he breathed. "Winnie's alive."
***
She was eating her lunch when someone knocked on the door.
The noise was so alien to her ears, it reminded her of that time when the man in the yellow suit- No! , She thought. I mustn't think of that.
She got up and opened the door. To her astonishment, there stood Tuck and Mae, looking just like they did more than a half century ago…
And to them, she was different, very different. But not as different as she should be.
Her hair hung shoulder width. Her skin had a gray tinge from too much fatigue and too little sleep and her eyes were a flat, lifeless blue. But she was still their dear Winnie Foster in every sense, and before they knew it, they were embracing her and she was pushing them away.
Tuck, still too dazed from finding her alive didn't notice her appearance. But Mae did and stepped back, looking her over.
"Winnie Foster," she said disapprovingly. "What have you done to yourself?"
Winnie no longer enjoyed being called Winnie. Too childish for my age, she thought bitterly. What a joke.
She looked seventeen, had taken the spring water as Jesse told her. But she regretted it with every fiber of her, every nerve of her wanted to go back. She must move on soon, go away to somewhere more unpopulated where the boys didn't throw rocks and people didn't whisper her cursed name as she walked by.
It was the biggest mistake of her life and she knew it. Taking the water, it stopped you where you were. Tuck was right. She shouldn't have. She shouldn't have taken it. She shouldn't have listened to Jesse. She shouldn't have stopped growing at seventeen.
With that thought, she slammed the door on her two dear friends.
***
"What do you reckon' we should tell Jesse?" Tuck asked worriedly.
"I guess- I guess- it would just be better if we tell them that Winnie had- had-" Mae trailed off, looking sad.
"Had passed away?" he suggested gently. "I guess we better. Well, there ain't anything we can do now." He shrugged helplessly. "You know what's funny? I actually wish she had- died. Then she would've been happy, at least. And that would've been better than her living forever and hating us." Tuck's voice had taken on a remorseful tone. "Poor child."
"She ain't a child, no more," Mae said.
A Different Kind of Death
In the village of Treegap, there was a queer lady; some called her a witch, others just thought of her as a recluse. But no one had ever seen her face, whether in the heat of summer or freezing cold of winter. Some had seen her hands and said they were firm, smooth and young, even though she had been there as long as anyone remembered.
She lived in a homely cottage on the outskirts of town, more farming area than anything else and kept to herself. On her rare public appearances, she wore a heavy veil over her face and a hat on her head that concealed her face. Her dress was dull and unfashionable, shapeless sacks of dresses and sad trousers that drooped at the waist. She almost never spoke, unless to say, "Two pounds of ground beef," or, "Fifteen of those, please."
Sometimes the boys in town jeered at her and threw rocks. But she never seemed to notice, never seem to care, lost in a world of her own. As time wore on, the boys grew tired of their game, grew tired of teasing her and left her alone. She didn't seem to notice.
Was she old? Was she young? No one knew exactly. But they all agreed she must be older than most because no one ever remembered her youth, she had simply faded along the timeline, somewhere.
They whispered her name all the time, thinking she couldn't hear them. Yes, they would say. There goes Winifred Foster.
***
The Tucks stopped in the restaurant and ordered two cups of coffee. The waiter smiled pleasantly and served them.
"You aren't from these parts, are you?" he asked. Queer people, he thought.
"No, just passing by." Tuck drained his cup and set it down, wincing. Much too hot. "What happened to that forest, a little ways off?"
"Oh, there was an electric storm, a few years back. They had to bulldoze her all out."
"You know, there was a freshwater spring in there," Tuck said boldly.
"Was there? Well, I wouldn't know about that now, they had to bulldoze her out, like I said." The waiter took Tuck's cup away. "Would you like another?" Tuck shook his head and stood up.
"Say," Tuck started, his heart quickening. "You wouldn't know anyone by the name of Winifred Foster, would you?"
The waiter stared in astonishment and burst out laughing. "You've heard of her? The old witch? She lives on the far side of town, where O'Leary's cows graze."
Mae stood up sharply and walked out the door. Tuck followed her out.
"Mae," he breathed. "Winnie's alive."
***
She was eating her lunch when someone knocked on the door.
The noise was so alien to her ears, it reminded her of that time when the man in the yellow suit- No! , She thought. I mustn't think of that.
She got up and opened the door. To her astonishment, there stood Tuck and Mae, looking just like they did more than a half century ago…
And to them, she was different, very different. But not as different as she should be.
Her hair hung shoulder width. Her skin had a gray tinge from too much fatigue and too little sleep and her eyes were a flat, lifeless blue. But she was still their dear Winnie Foster in every sense, and before they knew it, they were embracing her and she was pushing them away.
Tuck, still too dazed from finding her alive didn't notice her appearance. But Mae did and stepped back, looking her over.
"Winnie Foster," she said disapprovingly. "What have you done to yourself?"
Winnie no longer enjoyed being called Winnie. Too childish for my age, she thought bitterly. What a joke.
She looked seventeen, had taken the spring water as Jesse told her. But she regretted it with every fiber of her, every nerve of her wanted to go back. She must move on soon, go away to somewhere more unpopulated where the boys didn't throw rocks and people didn't whisper her cursed name as she walked by.
It was the biggest mistake of her life and she knew it. Taking the water, it stopped you where you were. Tuck was right. She shouldn't have. She shouldn't have taken it. She shouldn't have listened to Jesse. She shouldn't have stopped growing at seventeen.
With that thought, she slammed the door on her two dear friends.
***
"What do you reckon' we should tell Jesse?" Tuck asked worriedly.
"I guess- I guess- it would just be better if we tell them that Winnie had- had-" Mae trailed off, looking sad.
"Had passed away?" he suggested gently. "I guess we better. Well, there ain't anything we can do now." He shrugged helplessly. "You know what's funny? I actually wish she had- died. Then she would've been happy, at least. And that would've been better than her living forever and hating us." Tuck's voice had taken on a remorseful tone. "Poor child."
"She ain't a child, no more," Mae said.