Free Pepper
Chapter 11
In the three months following the Wine Incident, I was indeed put on a short leash; metaphorically speaking, if I'm being honest. Every day felt like a never ending challenge to keep Archibald Snatcher, my Father, in a constant good mood. In doing so, I more or less picked up each rule that I should've realized my first few days there. Even though no one wrote these rules down for me, they became pretty obvious, even to "delicate", "small minded" Pepper. They were as follows:
1. Mr. Snatcher had the final word on everything.
2. No visitors allowed in the factory unless invited by Mr. Snatcher.
3. I can't touch anything that specifically belongs to Mr. Snatcher.
4. I will do whatever the Red Hats ask of me, with Mr. Snatcher as my top priority.
5. When on outings, I will be respectful and stay by Mr. Snatcher's side.
6. The Basement and Mr. Snatcher's Private Quarters are off limits unless specified.
7. I will greet the Red Hats every morning and see them off every evening.
8. I can neither talk to nor participate in the extermination of the Boxtrolls. Ever.
Thankfully, Mr. Pickles, Mr. Trout, and Mr. Gristle very rarely took advantage of these rules. One of the few instances I can think of as I write this was on a day in which I was assisting Mr. Pickles in some cooking and when I told him I'd never cooked a day in my life, he asked me to read the cook book he'd been using and point out the ingredients so that I could understand the ins and outs of the recipe. I also recall a day in which Mr. Trout had asked me to pull out a book of my liking. Some of the larger words were a little hard to pronounce, so he had me repeat each sound from them to help me understand. I also remembered a day on which Mr. Gristle showed me how to clean the aquarium of leeches. With his seemingly limited vocabulary, I learned that once a week, he used a special tube he'd stick inside the water to clean it, much like that of a fishbowl. The only part I didn't really care for was the two of us bent over for about an hour, hovering over the tank while maintaining it, but all in all, it was definitely the highlight of that day. Activities with the three of them were pretty enjoyable all things considered. When my Father was either in his Private Quarters or on an outing by himself, the four of us would stay behind and play 'Charades' or card games. My favorites were always 'Go Fish' and 'Speed'. I learned very quickly that Mr. Gristle was a Master when it came to games, and as a result, he seemed to win each one. I once asked Mr. Trout why they would play, knowing that Mr. Gristle would always win.
"I believe it's just to entertain ourselves, Miss," he explained. "We don't really mind who wins. It gives us something to do when we're not working."
"I guess that makes sense," I replied. "When I was in London, I used to explore for fun. I liked that. I think everyone oughta have fun, don't you?"
"Well, sure...I believe one way to put it is...all work and no leisure is like a paper bag flying about on a blustery day. When will the hustle and bustle finally stop?" Mr. Trout shrugged. "Hard to know, Miss." I smiled at him and shrugged too.
Other times, Mr. Trout, Mr. Pickles, and/or Mr. Gristle would be sent on outings, and when they were, I would always ask my esteemed, smart, oh-so-wonderful Father if I could pretty please go with them in an effort to get out of the factory for some fresh air, he would let me go with them, as long as I followed the same 'outing' rules: don't leave them and be respectful as always. Granted, it only happened if he was feeling kind.
Mr. Snatcher's outings were very different from those of his men. His errands were quite frankly the only things we did and they typically involved whatever appointments he had scheduled. It was all whatever he either needed or wanted to do; quite boring, but even I wasn't stupid enough to tell him that. When I went out with Mr. Pickles, Mr. Trout, and Mr. Gristle, there was at least a little more freedom. We usually went out to get groceries from the Market Square for the kitchen area: mostly tea bags, vegetables, beef, unmade broth, and Extra, Extra Mild Cheddar, but afterwards, if we had time, sometimes we'd look inside the retail stores and point at random items. Mr. Pickles would watch me run around a toy shop we found on Gouda Lane. Mr. Trout liked looking at the books inside a bookstore on Mozzarella Avenue and would even help me find some children's books for me to practice reading. Mr. Gristle would often point out a variety of swords and guns in a weaponry store on Provolone Place. As much as I was a little apprehensive about being there, a trip into this store with Mr. Gristle was better than being stuck in a factory with my Father anytime.
I say that because whenever his men weren't around, and it was just me and him, usually one of three things would be happening. I'd either be working on some unfinished chores, trying to keep myself from dying of boredom in my room, or on a usual outing with Mr. Snatcher. I could tell that the never ending journey I spoke of was to resume whenever he would come in with his 'I didn't catch a Boxtroll' face. The moment I see it, that's my cue to just stand there, fully dressed in one of my day dresses and await for him to tell me to do something. Sometimes, he'd just write down my list of responsibilities for the day and that'd be it before he'd go upstairs. Other days, he wouldn't even let me wait. 'Pepper, bring this.' 'Pepper, do that.' And his tone was either one of two emotions: tired or infuriated, and because I kept trying to prove to him that I was indeed smart, despite how much he disagreed, I always kept myself a few steps away from him.
If he had caught a Boxtroll, then while he would provide a list of things for me to do most of the time, he was always much nicer. 'Pepper, please bring this.' 'Pepper, please sit down so that I can talk to you about my successful night.' And I would always nod and acknowledge how grand he was to take on such a task. Most of those mornings ended with a pat on my head and dishes to clean, but as long as he was happy, that was what mattered.
That's why one particular memory that comes to mind troubles me a little bit. One morning, I woke up at the sound of my alarm as usual and the first thing that came to mind was to hurry up even faster than usual. Because on this certain day, three months after the Wine Incident, there was one thing I had to ask him, and I hoped that he had caught a Boxtroll, because that confirmed most of the time that he would be in a good mood, and much more likely to let me speak.
It was 5AM when my alarm clock woke me up, so that I could get started. It was a little hard to, but I managed to sit up, rub my eyes and slide out of bed. "Today's the day!" I cried. Slipping a blood red work dress, light brown pinafore, and black stockings and laced shoes, I could almost feel myself burst from excitement. "I'm going to ask him!" I tied up my laces and my hair as tightly as possible. Fluffing up my hair and bow on my head, I scurried down the steps in anticipation. "Don't have much time. Don't have much time!"
Despite the fact that I couldn't touch his personal belongings, I was glad to know that I could touch food, the kitchenware and the table and chairs, minus my Father's. I pulled out three eggs and a plate on the counter, and a frying pan and placed them on the stove. I vigorously shoveled some coal into it, pushed a plain chair towards it so that I could heat it, pulled the plate toward me, and cracked the eggs. I hummed a little song to myself as I watched the eggs sizzle. My heartbeat increased at the possibility of what he might say at my request. Looking at him and talking with him was hard enough, but making him happy was a challenge in and of itself.
"I hope he says 'yes'! I hope he says 'yes'!..." I cried as I placed the cooked eggs on the plate and placed it on the table, but then I stopped. "No he won't...but it's worth a try...is something missing?"
I placed a paper flower I'd made the day before in a dry empty vase and placed it in the center of the table. As I stared at the table, wondering what possibly be missing, I tightened my bow and straightened my dress and sat at the table in a plain chair.
That man will be coming through that door any minute now.
The sudden sound of a motorcar engine could be heard from right outside the door. My heart flipped over when the sound receded and was replaced by clacking footsteps.
"Please have a Boxtroll. Please have a Boxtroll."
The jingling of keys and the opening of the door brought me to my feet. "Good morning! Welcome home, Father!" This greeting was much more heart felt than usual because as he came in, he strutted in like a King approaching his throne. And he only did that when...yes! In one hand he held a trembling box, squeaking and gurgling in misfortune. I almost bursted with delight myself, but I just couldn't, so I didn't. I hurried up to him and kept my smile, which I swear was real and genuine. As he was about to walk past me, my eyes met the little shaking box, but I quickly bowed my head and took a step back. In the corner of my eye, I could sense his smile at my gesture. At times like these, I felt as though I couldn't even look at those creatures, for fear of offending him. I watched his body instead as he approached a hanging cage, unlocked it, and placed the creature inside. When I heard the clicking sound of his locking the cell, I pulled my own head up and suddenly remembered the task at hand.
"I trust your night went good, Father!"
"'I trust your night went 'well', Pepper. 'Good' is improper."
"Oh...right...umm, I made you breakfast." I took his hand and rubbed it tenderly. "Look!" I directed him to the table. I showed him my flower. "Mr. Trout showed me how to make these yesterday. Isn't it pretty?" I asked with a smile. He pulled his hand out of mine and merely glanced at it.
"T'is only paper," he stated matter-of-factly.
My face fell for just a moment before I cleared my throat and put the vase back on the table. "May I fix you something to drink, sir? A glass of brandy? A sherry? Or even water perhaps?" He barely looked at me as he sat down and glanced at what I made for him. "Pepper, your memory baffles me. I tell you not to touch those things and yet you ask if you could prepare glasses of them?"
My stomach flipped over. "Oh, yes, you're right! S-sorr-I-I mean you're right, of course." I blushed a terrible red color. "But a glass of water I have no qualm against," he continued. I smiled and rushed to the cupboard to fetch a clean glass. At the time, I didn't even think to question his suspicious gaze following me. Within a minute I held out a tall glass of water for him, with extra ice just as he liked it. He warily took it and finally actually looked at me.
"Can I do anything else for you, sir?"
"Sit down."
I immediately fell into a plain chair. "Yes, I can sit!" I smiled and kicked my legs in a carefree style as he finally started eating. With the occasional sip of water, I nibbled my lip and what he could have possibly been thinking. "Father, I-"
He held up one finger and my lips closed instantly. The next few minutes felt more like hours as he took his precious time cutting the eggs and eating them one by one. "I hope they taste alright," I thought to myself. "If they're not..."
I rubbed my neck.
"Do you like them?"
"Awful bland and a little burned...some salt would've been nice," He replied. I rubbed my neck vigorously. So that was what was missing? He smiled. "And a little pepper, Pepper." He chuckled a little as he poked my chest, and I kept smiling, despite my slight aggravation at his sense of humor. "Quite conditional, as well."
"Huh?"
He ran his napkin across his lips and was silent for another minute or so. My gaze traveled left and right. "You might as well tell me what you're hoping for. That ridiculous smile and this attempt to impress me is all the indication I need."
My smile dissolved as he said this, so I squared my shoulders and took a breath. "Nothing gets past you, Father." I cleared my throat. "So..." I placed a hand on his arm. "Can you guess what a week from today will be?" I asked as innocently as I could.
"Hmm, October 14th, of course. Two weeks 'til All Hallows' Eve," he replied once more in that matter of fact kind of tone. "Well..." I resumed. "...yes, there's that. But there's one more thing!" I leaned forward, my arms linked to his arm adoringly. "It'll be my birthday, sir!" I giggled amidst my announcement. I leaned back and spread my arms wide. "I'll be seven years old!"
Despite my delightful outburst, he just seemed...unimpressed...at least for a minute before he grinned again. He put a finger to his chin in thought. "Seven, you say? Really?" I nodded gleefully. "Well, I suppose that is a reason to be excited." I nodded my head joyfully. "Yes, yes it is!" I replied. I must not have noticed how close I was to him, because he soon enough took my arm himself and peeled it off of him. I quickly took a step back and inhaled a deep breath. "Father, I'm turning seven, and I was wondering if I could, well...if you could..." He raised an eyebrow. I suddenly felt a cold rush over me. "...j-just...umm..." He rolled his eyes, sighed, turned away for a minute, put his knife and fork on the plate, and stood back up. "Pepper, Father is awfully tired. If you must ask something of me, I recommend that you quit the mumbling and just say it." I frowned while he gave me a frustrated look. He turned away and carried the plate and silverware to the sink.
"I want you to take me to the Toy Shop!"
His head had been pointed down as he placed the dishes in the sink, but at the sound of my outburst, he glanced straight ahead and locked eyes with me.
"...what?..."
"I-I was just wondering since it'll be my birthday, I had hoped that maybe I could-we could-go and I could pick something out that I really like. I've tried so hard to be good like you want, and..."
Snatcher didn't seem to show much of a reaction as he looked at me and soon enough, walked back towards the table, and sat in his chair, cross legged.
"And you want me to take you?" He asked. I approached him cautiously and nodded silently. Folding my hands as if praying and smiling sweetly, I watched him for a minute. He stroked and tapped his chin with his pointer finger and hummed. My knees began to knock at the way he'd just let me stand there with no answer, looking me up and down as if he were teasing me. I never put it past him. He smiled at me, with eyes that appeared warm, but as I'd come to learn, I could never be without doubt.
"Pepper, come here," he beckoned to me. I sighed and approached him a little more. "Yes, sir?" "Turn around."
With my back facing him, I softly gasped as he took the end tips of my hair into the palm of his hand and studied it. I looked over my shoulder with worry and confusion.
"Yes..." He replied.
"Father?" I asked smiling hopefully. He turned me back around with his hands clutching my shoulders.
"My dear, if you'll do one last little thing for me," he resumed, pointing to himself daintily. "I shall spend my hard earned money on one item of your choosing."
"Oh, thank you, Daddy! Thank you! THANK YOU!" I hurried to his side and hugged his neck gently. He leaned back upon impact as I rested my cheek on his chest for about a minute, not really caring about his strong cologne or his arms laying away from me, rather than returning my embrace.
"Ahem."
My eyes opened and I looked up at him. His annoyed look made me let him go and take a step back. "Excuse me, Sir." "Hmm, that's better..." he said. I nibbled a lip as he took his jacket and reached into one of his inner pockets. "Let's be prompt and take care of that 'one little thing' right now."
My nibbling lips smiled again. "What do I need to do, sir?"
His eyes trailed back at me and he returned my smile with a crooked one of his own. "Pepper, Father needs something from you," he admitted, pulling a sympathetic face. I nodded in understanding.
"It is for a little...experiment...of mine that I've had on the brain for awhile now; Even before I'd found you, and I want you to assist me."
"How?" I asked.
"The first thing I need from you is your hair..." He almost hissed, drawing out that last sentence.
My smile faded. As Snatcher ran his fingers through it, I looked at my hair, and even touched it. "My hair?" I asked. "Just for this one time, my dear. And then I won't bother you about it anymore," he replied. "It's such a lovely red color, and..." He turned me around again. "...it would make me so happy. You want me to be happy, don't you?"
"Oh, of course!" I looked back over my shoulder one last time.
"Well then," he rumbled, pulling a knife out of his pocket; one I'd never seen before. I stared at it momentarily, and turned my head back around.
From behind, I could hear soft 'sheering' sounds. I glanced back for just an instant. My whole insides flipped over at the very sight of his sharpening it. Once he examined the knife, nodded, and smirked approvingly, I swiftly looked away, and caught a glimpse of my long hair one last time. His clacking footsteps seemed just as, if not more, awful than before.
"I...love you, Father."
"I know, darling, I know..."
...
I looked like a boy.
That was my first thought after it was said and done. Father had gone to his room with my hair in his hands, and gave me the day off from my usual chores. But even with my day long freedom, I couldn't look away from my bathroom mirror.
My head had become nothing but a short awkward tuft of hair. I picked up a hairbrush to try to tame it and though it looked a little more organized after a few strokes, it still felt strange. The back of my neck felt a little cool and my head felt much lighter. I smiled at those feelings, so it must have been the look that bothered me. But if Father was happy, I should be happy...
I turned around and, as if right on cue, I yawned as I caught sight of my bed. I sat there at the foot of it and rubbed my neck. I had a staring contest with my closet as an idea came to mind.
"Well, Pepper, girl, look at yourself...well, even more than before. What's everyone going to think? A girl with short hair?" I asked myself as I opened my closet door. I picked out my own red hat and a nicer looking 'outing' dress and hummed.
"Bows won't be easy to wear now, huh?" I continued. I walked inside it and pulled out a frilly red bow. I placed it on top of my head and grumbled. I wasn't about to pull one of these off.
"Not with this hair," I thought. But as I stepped around the closet, something happened.
Tap.
"Ow!"
I looked down at what stubbed my toe, and there right below was a small leather bound book, marked 'Journal' in gold letters. As it often did, curiosity got the better of me. Coughing at the dust flying around its old looking pages, I opened it up. Strangely enough, the first page was blank, save for one little paragraph of text in the upper left corner.
"To those who write to stay sane."
My eyes widened at a certain memory I'd almost forgotten, and it gave me an idea.
