I mentioned in Chapter 3 that Bronwyn once accidentally fractured one of the twin's arm. In this chapter, I decided to write it — or more specifically, the aftermath of it.
My entry for the January Song Challenge at the Plight of the Little-Known Fandom forum.
Life in Miss Peregrine's time-loop usually ran as smoothly as her pocketwatch. The days ticked by, always warm and sunny, and everything happened on schedule, from when the children woke up at 8:00 sharp, to when the cloud shaped like a duck sailed over the house at 2:26. One of the few unpleasant days that ever happened in Miss Peregrine's loop was when Bronwyn, forgetting for a moment that she was as strong as ten men, accidentally fractured Twin A's arm during a game of tag.
Twin A felt much better after Miss Peregrine put a splint and some ice on his arm. She hated to leave him when he was hurt, but taking care of eleven children meant making hard decisions, and emotional wounds needed tending as much as physical ones. Bronwyn had felt so guilty when she realized what she'd done that she'd run upstairs crying and still hadn't come down. Miss Peregrine told Twin A to rest and settled him on the sofa between Twin B and Claire for company. Claire brought her favorite book, a gift that Abe had sent them from the future. "Shall I read to you while you're resting?" she asked. "I can read Where the Wild Things Are all by myself now."
The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another... Claire's high voice faded as Miss Peregrine climbed the stairs in search of Bronwyn. In Bronwyn and Fiona's room, she found Olive on her hands and knees on the rug, peering beneath the bed. Her red hair looked more fiery than ever in the September sunlight slanting through the window. Miss Peregrine didn't see Bronwyn, but she heard her sniffling under the bed.
"I know you feel bad, Bronwyn," Olive was saying, "but you'll feel better if you come out from under there."
But Bronwyn didn't answer. She was curled up against the wall, out of reach, thinking about how terrible she was. She had hurt Twin A's arm, probably broken it — she was almost as bad as a hollow. She remembered Victor, and that made her feel even sadder. Victor had been stronger than she was, but he was always so careful, so gentle; he had never hurt anyone. Bronwyn thought that perhaps the hollow should've killed her, instead of him, and she sniffled again and wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand.
Miss Peregrine watched the scene from the doorway for a moment. She was touched that Olive was trying to coax her out; Olive understood, better than the other children, how Bronwyn was feeling right now.
"Bronwyn..." Olive began again, but she stood up and smoothed down her dress when Miss Peregrine came in. "Miss P, how's A?"
"He's going to be fine. I managed to put a splint on his arm. It's just a fracture, but he'll need to rest it for a while."
From under her bed, Bronwyn started crying again, and Olive pursed her lips worriedly. "I've been trying to get her to come out, Miss P, but she won't," she fretted. "I told her nobody's angry with her, but..."
Miss Peregrine squeezed one of Olive's always-gloved hands. "It's very thoughtful of you to want to make her feel better, Olive. Why don't you give me a minute alone with her?" Olive nodded and slipped out of the room.
Miss Peregrine didn't say anything for a moment. From under the bed, Bronwyn watched her heels walk slowly across the floor, and she listened to her strike a match and light her pipe. Her heels came closer to the bed, and she neatly folded back the coverlet that Bronwyn had tugged down to hide herself further.
"I suppose," Miss Peregrine said calmly, "that you must feel very bad about hurting A, even if it was an accident."
But her calm manner didn't reassure Bronwyn. She deserved to be punished — why wasn't Miss Peregrine scolding her? "I'm so terrible," she wailed miserably. "I'm the worst peculiar there ever was. You ought to spank me, Miss P. You ought to spank me and send me to bed without supper and—"
"That's enough carrying on, Bronwyn," Miss Peregrine said firmly, cutting her off. There were, she knew, some ymbrynes who punished their children in such ways, but Miss Peregrine had never once done either. "You know I would never raise a hand to you or let you go hungry. Come out here and sit with me."
Time alone with Miss Peregrine was a coveted thing among her children; there were so many of them that it was always hard to come by. Bronwyn didn't think that she deserved it right now, but she also couldn't resist the offer of it. She answered, "Yes, Miss P," as she'd been taught to say whenever Miss Peregrine gave an order, and she crawled out. Miss Peregrine sat down on her bed, and Bronwyn climbed into her lap.
She was dusty and disheveled, but Miss Peregrine gathered her close and wiped her runny face with her handkerchief. Bronwyn wrapped her skinny arms around her — skinny, but so much stronger than they looked — and tucked her head against her breast. From here, she could hear Miss Peregrine's breath and her heartbeat, could smell the smoke of her pipe, could feel the hard, flat circle of her pocketwatch pressing against her. From here, all her troubles seemed far away. Miss Peregrine ran her long nails through her hair, and Bronwyn closed her eyes, but she opened them again when Miss Peregrine spoke to her.
"Look here, Bronwyn, I'll show you something," Miss Peregrine said, and she pushed up her sleeve. Bronwyn raised her head. She saw a strange pale spot on Miss Peregrine's forearm. It was almost white, and the skin there looked stretch tight. "It's a burn mark," Miss Peregrine said quietly, in response to her questioning look. "Olive burned me once, a long time ago now."
Bronwyn stared, wide-eyed and a little frightened. She felt so horrible for hurting Twin A that she couldn't imagine how much worse it would be to hurt Miss Peregrine, who took care of them all. And being burned must hurt dreadfully too, worse than that time Bronwyn had touched the pie tin before it cooled.
"It was an accident, of course," Miss Peregrine went on. "She forgot she'd taken off her gloves, just like you forgot how strong you are. But now she's more careful, and she hasn't burned anyone since. Tell me, do you think Olive's terrible?"
Bronwyn shook her head.
"Use your words."
"No, Olive's very nice."
"She is, and you are, too. You just had an accident, and all peculiars have accidents sometimes."
"You never do, Miss P," Bronwyn said, as she ran one finger along the smooth golden pocketwatch chain that always hung from Miss Peregrine's waist.
"That's true, but I'm an ymbryne. I do want you to apologize to A, because that's the polite thing to do. You'll tell him you're very sorry, and you'll try to be more gentle from now on."
"Yes, Miss P," Bronwyn answered automatically. Then she peered closer at the old burn mark on Miss Peregrine's arm. She touched it, very cautiously, with one finger. "It doesn't hurt anymore?"
"No, it hasn't hurt for ages." She wiped Bronwyn's face again and smoothed down her hair. "Now, do you think you're ready to go back downstairs?"
She wasn't — she hated the thought of seeing Twin A with his arm in a splint — but it was hard to say no to Miss Peregrine. "Yes, Miss P" had been drilled into her. So Bronwyn tried to stall. "Well..."
But Miss Peregrine smiled and understood exactly. "Do you want me to hold you a little longer?"
"Yes, please," Bronwyn whispered, and she nuzzled her head against Miss Peregrine's breast again.
Later that afternoon, while the twins were resting and after Bronwyn had made up with them, she, Claire, and Fiona spilled outside into the warm September sunshine. Bronwyn was very dusty from being under her bed, and Fiona had the idea that they could beat her clothes clean, like they did with the rugs when they helped Miss Peregrine clean house. On the back lawn, Bronwyn stripped down to her camisole and bloomers, and they hung her dress and stockings over the clothesline and took turns beating the dust off with the broom handle.
She didn't tell the other girls about how Olive had accidentally burned Miss Peregrine once, but she told them, "Miss P said every peculiar has accidents sometimes. Do you think that's true?"
"It must be true, if Miss P said it," Claire answered. "She knows everything." Fiona nodded in agreement.
Bronwyn giggled, now dry-eyed and rosy-cheeked, as she took her turn beating her clothes clean. She watched the dust fly away on the breeze, and it seemed to carry all her guilty feelings with it. They stayed outside until Miss Peregrine called them in for supper, and as Bronwyn dressed and went inside, she felt like Max in Where the Wild Things Are, the book that she'd heard Claire reading to the twins. The wild rumpus was over, and life was back to normal in their loop. Her supper was waiting for her, and it was still hot.