Chapter 6
October 28, 1943
I love the fall. Something about it has always captivated me; perhaps it's the vibrant colors of the leaves which newly adorn the ground, or the wide assortment of wild herbs and mushrooms that can be found on Mother's Hill. Often I voyage there to collect herbs for the clinic while stopping to fill my stomach with fresh grapes and mushrooms.
And today seemed a perfect day for doing so. Tim knew that despite my pregnancy, which we had joyfully discovered in the late summer, I would not sit idly about the house cooking and cleaning redundantly. And I didn't. I was too strong-willed for that.
So, grabbing a basket and a light jacket, I ventured to Mother's Hill. A gentle breeze tickled my face as I walked down the path toward the mountain— another feeling I savored during the fall. Mineral Town really was a nice place to be when the weather was fair, yet even the thick blankets of snow produced a joyful feeling sometimes. All in all, the small town was home to me, and I wouldn't choose to live anywhere else. It was also ideal for raising a family, which would soon be the case for me and Tim.
As I reached the hill I breathed in deeply. The air was always the best here— especially at the summit. I decided I would climb there today, after all I had the leisure time— it was Wednesday and the clinic was closed. I spotted a patch of wild mushrooms and made my way to them. Not many people in Mineral Town enjoyed mushrooms, or at least the way I did, which was straight from the ground. I picked a medium-sized one, plucked off the roots, and brushed a little dirt from it. Then I lightheartedly popped it into my mouth, enjoying the fresh, crisp taste.
After a few more of the mushrooms, I went up further to search for some herbs. Since herbs didn't grow as quickly as mushrooms, I had to travel farther up to get some, where they were mostly left unpicked. Finding a few, I placed them into the basket. The clinic wasn't lacking of them, for I had picked some a couple days before, so I didn't need much. Satisfied after gathering a couple more, I decided to start the climb to the summit. It was still morning, and the air would be its purest now.
I took my time, partially to savor the view, but mostly considering the baby. Tim opposed my going anywhere that required a lot of energy, but I assured him that I was always full of energy and besides— movement was healthy. Still, I couldn't overwork myself, I did know my boundaries.
The view from the summit was gorgeous. The vast forests and mountains stretched as far as the wandering eye could see, and the sunrise and sunset were truly miraculous sights to behold. I often longed to build my home there, but I knew it would be a long walk to the village every day. Still, I never wanted to leave the peaceful atmosphere, and had to force myself to climb back down with a heavy heart.
But something was different as I reached it today. It wasn't the peaceful sort of feeling that I usually got, but a sort of desolate, lonely air. I took in a breath of air and thought no more of it. It was still pleasing to see the colorful scenery around me.
A mysterious object caught the corner of my eye. It deemed me as strange, for there was usually nothing this far up when I came, yet when I realized what the object was I was captivated. A beautiful white flower sat peacefully by itself, reflecting the morning rays of sun. As I drew closer to it I noticed it still had little beads of dew hanging delicately from its petals. "Amazing..." I whispered, kneeling down to where it gently swayed in the breeze. It truly was the most beautiful flower I had ever seen, and after years in Mineral Town, I had seen several, to say the least.
Then I thought of my grandmother, alone in her home near the library. She'll love it... I thought. She had always talked of a flower with pure white petals which bloomed in winter, and well, it was close enough to winter. It must be the one grandma talked about, I realized. So, I gingerly picked the flower and held it to my chest, afraid of smashing it in my basket.
I headed down right away. The excitement of finding the legendary flower Grandma Ellen had always spoke of sent my spirits soaring. I couldn't wait to see the look of happiness on her face after finally beholding the flower she had so long searched for.
I picked up my pace after I made it down the hill; I wanted to make sure the dew still clung to the flower's soft petals when I gave it to my grandmother. Yet, when I passed by the Poultry Farm I saw Lillia, Popuri's mother, out in the yard. This was uncommon for her, for she had a disease which kept her from moving about much, and she usually sat inside selling feed. It would be rude of me to ignore her, and I knew she loved flowers, so I decided to give her a preview.
"Elli, dear," she said with a warm smile as I approached. "How are you and Tim?"
"Wonderful, thank you." I returned her smile. She noticed the flower I was holding and her eyes opened wide.
"Oh, my! Elli, can I see it?" she asked, motioning toward it. I nodded, and carefully handed her the white beauty. "Elli, where did you find this?" she asked, beginning to look a bit worried. I was puzzled at this. I had expected a positive reaction.
"On the summit, just a few minutes ago... is there something wrong, Lillia?" I asked.
"Oh dear..." she muttered, lines forming along her forehead. "Elli, run, go get the mayor... quickly dear!" I was still a bit confused, but did as she told me. Mayor Thomas came as soon as I had mentioned Lillia wished to see him. He was protective of her, since her husband had left a while back to search for a cure for her illness.
I watched them for a while in discussion. Was the flower poisonous? If so, why were they touching it? I wanted to know why it had Lillia so worried. I wanted to know how a flower could possibly be bad.
And I soon found out. "It's a myth long told in this village," she explained, "when a flower of white blooms on Mother's Hill, one of the villagers is to perish. We never taught it because before we had never encountered one— I mean, of course we have seen villagers die here, but we have never seen the flower." Tears filled my eyes.
"But... it's not possible... it's a myth, a story..." I mumbled. "Nothing more..." Lillia put an arm around me, comforting me.
"I personally don't believe in it either, Elli dear. I'm only repeating what I have heard." But I saw traces of worry in her eyes. She couldn't help thinking one would die today. She believed in the silly tale.
She handed me the flower silently, and I made my way to the clinic. Mayor Thomas had already alerted every villager in the town of my discovery, and I saw them rushing into their homes as we crossed paths. Why did they all believe it, too? It was just a story... wasn't it? But why hadn't I heard of it before this day? It couldn't be true. I wouldn't let it be true, I decided.
I made my way to the clinic, where Tim and I lived with Stu. I hurried indoors and found the doctor explaining to the boy why he couldn't play outside any longer. My heart throbbed at the sight of it. "No... not you too..." I whispered. He looked up at me, but said nothing. How could my own husband believe it? I thought he had been too smart, too rational for this sort of thing. I couldn't help the tears that flowed down my burning cheeks. I looked at the pallid flower still in my hands and threw it to the ground. It meant nothing. It was a flower, an inanimate object. Not an omen.
I walked upstairs silently to my room, Doc and Stu watching me with concerned looks the entire length. I made no eye contact, I was ashamed. I couldn't believe they were caught in this mess as well.
I sat on my bed, staring at the wall opposite me. I had caused an uproar, the town was a nervous wreck— all because of me. They're all silly, fretting people, I thought to myself furiously, it couldn't possibly be true... they believe in a tale, a superstition, nothing more! I felt like slapping them all to their senses.
I heard the door click open. Tim entered, his brow furrowed in a state of thought. A look I had often seen with him. My eyes searched his face for signs of disbelief, something that would encourage me that the story was farce.
"Elli," he started, hoarsely, "May is missing." The words hit me like a load of bricks. I couldn't register it at first, for a minute almost. I sat there, looking at the floor, my mind reeling.
No, I repeated to myself over and over, it's not true...
But it was true. He came and laid a hand on my shoulder. "I'm going out to search for the girl. Take care of Stu. Some of the villagers will be dropping off their little ones as well in order to join the search party. I hope to be back soon." The words seemed surreal to me. I nodded, tears streaming.
He exited, and Stu scooted in. His eyes were red and swollen. He stood at the door, silent, until I beckoned for him to come over to me. He ran, his eyes full of tears as well, and settled into my arms. I hugged the boy, sobbing. How could this be happening?
Hours passed, and there was still no news of May. The sun would set soon, and I couldn't help worrying now. Yet, there was still a sense of doubt in my mind. I wouldn't believe it. A child, she was only a child. And it was wrong for a child to die.
Stu lay on my bed slumbering, having cried himself to sleep. My heart ached for my little brother, May had been his best friend even at an early age. The other children had arrived earlier and now sat at the table, stirring their bowls of stew, chatting cheerfully in broken sentences. They were far too young to understand what was going on, they merely saw this as an opportunity to play with the other children of the town.
I eventually settled the last child, Jack and Karen's son, into bed. It was a little early for them, and they opposed going to sleep when they were having so much fun. Yet, with full stomachs and the warm room at hand, they were soon dozing soundly next to Stu.
I sat watching them for a while, but I couldn't stand my idleness. I decided I would leave, only for a short time, to search for May as well. I wanted to prove the timid thoughts in my mind as well as the wary villagers wrong. I wanted desperately to find May.
I locked the door to the room, grabbed my cloak, and headed out. The sun had just begun to sink below the horizon, and streaks of darkness ran across the evening sky. I felt a chilling wind hit my face, and I no longer felt a sense of joy that it was fall. I decided to go to Mother's Hill again, taking hope in the fact it was one of May's favorite places.
An hour went by. I had met up with Tim and Rick, and together we searched along the lake and in every hole, every cavern, every tree. So far it had produced nothing.
"You should get back," Tim said as he turned to me, "the children are alone still, even if they are sleeping." I knew he was right, I feared one had woken up and noticed my absence. Still, I couldn't help wishing to keep on searching for the girl, I wanted to make sure she was okay. Just then Rick let out a yell.
"Tim, Elli, come here, quickly!" Immediately becoming anxious, Tim and I ran to where he stood above the lake. He held a red ribbon in his hand, studying it. We crowded around him, looking at his discovery. It had belonged to May. I had seen it tied in her braids day after day, she had loved those ribbons as she did her dolls. Tears filled my eyes again. I didn't know what this meant; if it were a good sign or not.
"We're on the right trail, whatever it may be," Tim said. He turned toward me. "Elli, I think you should head back now." I protested, I wanted to keep on searching, feeling we were close to discovering the truth. But he reminded me again of the abandoned children, and I soon started back down the hill.
I arrived back at the clinic to find all the children still soundly asleep, some of them snoring softly. I smiled weakly, glad for the precious little ones. Stu stirred in his sleep, but there were no lines of anguish on his face. I went into the kitchen, and warmed up the remaining stew from earlier. I would bring the remainder of the thick soup to Barley, who I knew would be taking this the worst of us all.
When it was warmed and covered I stepped outside again, making my way to his farm. As I entered it, I noticed the elderly man sitting sullenly at a table, absently stirring a cup of tea. He looked up as I entered, and I noticed the large bags under his already wrinkled eyes.
"Here," I said gently, setting the warm stew I had brought on his kitchen counter, "I brought you this." He nodded slightly in gratitude, and I went to sit opposite him. We sat in silence for a length of time, until I made an attempt to comfort him. "She'll be home soon," I said. I hoped. He grunted, seeming to try to talk, but his words didn't come out. I went on. "Please, don't fret. Don't believe this talk of the flower and all, Barley. She is a child. She will be found soon." I noticed him swallow hard.
"A child..." he croaked, "a child is still susceptible to death, just as the rest of us." He looked up at me, tears in the corners of his eyes. "I've seen it before. I've seen that awful weed. It's no flower, for there is no sense of beauty to it." His words were slow and raspy. He choked a bit before going on. "How can there be beauty in death? Yes, I've seen it before. I'll never forget that day. The day my Joanna laid to rest..." I was shocked at his words. I took them in carefully.
"But, I always thought..." I began to protest, but he interrupted me, speaking quickly and harshly now.
"Yes, you had always thought she had left the village. That's what we told everyone. That she had left her one and only child to move to the city. It was a lie, a dirty lie, and we were ashamed. Why? Why were we ashamed of this dirty omen? Because we hadn't believed it. We had gone as if nothing were to happen. Sure, we had heard the tales. But we weren't afraid. My daughter was killed that day, her head smashed in from the rocks of Mother's Hill. She had fallen, and lay there for several hours, because none of us believed in the tale and took the initiative to search for her. She was twenty-three years old." The old man broke down. "And now, now..." he managed, "it's because of me that my granddaughter is missing. It is because I was careless."
I shook my head, in disbelief, staring at the table. Drops from my eyes fell onto the table. I was ashamed.
Silently, I got up and placed a hand on the old man's trembling shoulder. But I could not find myself to speak. I took my cloak up again, and exited. The way back to the clinic was a blur. I sobbed, running into the night air. I didn't want to believe the tale I had just been told, I didn't want to believe any of it. Yet I found myself worried sick, my stomach churning. May's mother had been taken by the flower. It could have been coincidence, I thought blindly, it doesn't have to be true...
I returned to the clinic, finding the daughter of Kai and Popuri standing at the door, crying. Though when she saw the tears in my own eyes she squeezed my legs, and I picked her up gently, hugging her tightly. I looked at the time. Half past ten. I quietly gave the child a glass of warm milk, and helped her back into bed. Then I sat in the corner, my mind rushing over the day's events.
It was so surreal, I couldn't believe that only that morning I had gone out happily, munching on mushrooms. I looked at my basket in the corner, sitting as if it didn't have a care in the world. I despised it. But moreso, I spited myself. I had come across the dreadful flower, I had brought it into the town, and now a child was missing. What if I had never have come across it? Would May be sleeping safely at home? I cursed myself, over and over. The shrieks in my mind became external sobs, and I left the room in order to not disturb the children. I laid on the bed on which patients laid when they were ill, when they were incapable of movement. I laid staring at the ceiling for a long time.
Eventually I heard the door of the clinic being unlocked. I sat up eagerly, and I noticed Tim enter. I could not see his face, for his back was to me as he closed the door softly, though I desperately longed for him to turn around. It seemed forever until he did so, and when he did a weight immediately lifted off my chest. He grinned at me reassuringly. "She is safe," he said, simply. I ran to him, burying my face in his chest, crying. However, I was no longer weeping of guilt or worry, but of sheer relief. As soon as I had calmed a bit, I backed away, still grasping onto his arms. I cast him an inquisitive glance. He explained that Jack had come across her, sitting on the summit of the hill, where I had ventured earlier that day. She had been holding three yellow daisies in her shivering hand, saving them for her grandfather. But she was all right.
I wiped the remaining tears from my eyes, and grabbed a cool cloth to press against my swollen eyelids. One by one, the villagers came to collect their groggy children. As the last one left, I sat at the my desk, thinking. Tim had gone to wash up, and Stu still lay sleeping. I would tell him the good news in the morning.
I didn't feel the least bit satisfied that I had been been proven right. The flower wasn't an omen, maybe, but I still had painful thoughts of the story Barley had told me. I would tell no one, of course, even if he now wished me to. I couldn't repeat the horrible tale. I caught sight of the flower again, not on the floor as I had last saw it, but lying delicately on the window sill near the desk. Tim must have put it there. I went to it, feeling its soft petals once again. How could this simple object cause so much pain and worry in a single day? I couldn't explain it.
Then it came to me that I still hadn't shown my grandmother. That was of little importance to me now, of course, but I now wished to see her, just to talk, to feel comforted by her again. No doubt she was as worried as Barley had been, for she always had a strong heart for children. And she must have known about young Joanna's fate as well. I looked at the clock. Eleven-forty. I knew she would still be up, she would not sleep until she had known the child was safe at home.
I set out to visit her. The night no longer carried the breeze which had lashed at my face earlier— there was now a stillness to it. The crickets had ceased their songs, everything was silent as I traveled down the path to her home. As I approached it, I saw light emitting from the window of the living room, where I had not long ago looked out. I knocked twice quietly, and entered.
The room was warm and quiet. I saw a teapot on the stove. I searched the room for my grandmother, soon finding her rocking slowly in the kitchen. I set my coat down on the couch and made my way to the elderly woman. Her eyes were heavy, she was undoubtedly sleepy, and lines of worry were still etched in her face.
"You have heard the child is safe now?" I asked her as I entered the kitchen. She still rocked gently. She had. "You should sleep now," I told her, "Here grandma, let me help you." She suddenly stopped rocking, and opened her eyes halfway to look up at me. She sat for a moment, running her eyes along every feature on my face.
"Oh, Elli..." she mumbled. "My dear child..." She closed her eyes again weakly.
"Grandma, let me help you up..." I said, but no reply was made. I watched her carefully. A lump formed in the back of my throat.
"Grandma Ellen...?"