Eventually, Willy Wonka got over the enormous shock, and his initial fear turned to curiosity. Some of his questions were answered by the e-mail that followed an hour after the phone call. In it was a picture of the girl and a short explanation of her history.
"Wren Beatrice Samson," Charlie read from the printout in Mr. Wonka's office. It had been a little hard to get that paper out intact. While the boy had no idea why the half-computer even worked, it only printed half the page. Finally, he had changed the formatting so all the words were on the right side. Who knew school computer lessons would actually have some value?
"Born November 3rd, 1990 in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. Mother, Janette Catherine Samson, deceased since January 27th, 2005 after a long bout of tuberculosis. Father, listed on the birth certificate as unknown, later suspected and confirmed to be William Ashley Wonka."
Here, the boy paused. "I never knew your middle name was Ashley, sir…"
He blushed slightly, crossing his arms like a bratty child. "My father had a sister named Ashley, pick a bone with him."
"Ashley is a unisex name!" insisted Grandpa George. "My father's name was Ashley!"
Charlie continued before an argument could break out. "Attends Oakwood Private Academy in Victoria with the money she inherited from her late grandfather. Apparently he was a big investor. Owned shares in Alberta oil, and he used to own a large part of…" He looked up. "Wonka Enterprises?"
"It's a loooong story," Willy sighed. "Just get on with it, please?"
"She gets good grades, very good grades. She got a medal for sciences a year back. Not into any school activities that I can see, but she's a member of the Victoria Horticultural Club."
"Heh heh, horticultural," giggled the chocolate maker. "Sounds dirty…"
"Well, technically it is, in a manner of speaking. Horticulture is the study and growing of plants," Mrs. Bucket gently explained.
"There's not much else, except that, since she has no other relatives except some very distant cousins several times removed, she's coming here on the first of February."
"She looks so… serious," Willy frowned, picking up the picture.
It was a school photo, profiling the shoulders up. She was dressed in a black blazer, a white shirt, and a copper and black striped tie, apparently the school uniform. Resemblances to her father were apparent, the most obvious being the exact same deep purple eyes and the same colour brown hair that curled up slightly at the ends. Her skin was even the semi-pale shade of Wonka's. Her cheekbones were high, like her father's, but her features were sharper and her nose was definitely different. But Willy was right, she did look serious. Not even a trace of a smile was on her face.
"Oh, you know those uppity private schools," scoffed Grandpa Joe. "They probably make them pose like that so they'll look like little adults when they're not and they're not supposed to be!"
Wonka's scowl softened, and he finally smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's probably it! After all, she's my daughter! How serious can she be? She probably burst out laughing right after this was taken! And those colours… So drab! You think they'd pick something a bit happier for a school uniform."
"Schools like that aren't suppose to make children happy, they're supposed to make them smart."
"Well spoken! Well spoken, indeed! No wonder you used to work for me!" Most of the anxiety he had harboured over parenthood had flown out the window and been replaced with eagerness. "I can't wait for her to get here! I'm sure she'll love the factory! The first, you said? Why, that's only a week away! There's so much time, and so little to do!" He paused. "Wait… Strike that, reverse it."
The next day, the papers were reporting the incredible event of the discovery of Willy Wonka's daughter. It was right there on the first page, above the murder of three men in a pool hall. "Illegitimate daughter of Candy Man Wonka in Canada".
"Well, that can't be good for business," sighed Willy, adding four heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee.
"This is the 21st century," Mr. Bucket scoffed. "I'm sure no one will care."
He turned the page, where bold letters proclaimed "Southern Baptist Churches Boycott Wonka Candy."
"Dang."
"I still don't think it's a problem, Willy. The same church boycotted Disney for nine years, and they're still going strong."
"Why Disney?"
"They were upset that they gave benefits to homosexual employees."
"Well, that's just stupid."
Mr. Bucket shrugged. "Tell them that. They've proven themselves rather prone to throw things when they're angry. They believe in 'Let he who is perfect cast the first stone', and they think that's them."
"Just forget about them," advised his wife, setting an English muffin topped with strawberry jam in front of him. "Have you decided what room she'll stay in?"
"Well, I was looking up some of that plant stuff, and it said that indoor plants get more sunlight if they're in a north or east-facing window, so I found the perfect room! It's facing east, and it's that one with the wall of one-way windows, so if she has plants, they'll be sure to get enough sun."
"That's thoughtful of you."
"I know! There's just the basics in there now, though. Plain curtains, bed covers, stuff like that. I suppose I'll let her decorate it to her taste once she gets here, since I don't know what she likes." He paused, ripping a piece off of the English muffin with his teeth. "Do you think she'll like living here in the factory?"
"I do," smiled Charlie. "And I'm not even related to you. Besides, what kid wouldn't love to live here?"
He smiled slightly, nodding. "Thanks, Charlie. I guess you're right, as usual. Besides, not much we can do about it until she gets here…"
January 31st, and a red-eyed flight to the city made famous by the Wonka factory. Neither was very pleasant, the first being rather wet and dreary in almost every place in the northern hemisphere and the second being naturally unpleasant even on the best of days.
First class was a lonely one. There was a grand total of four passengers there, considering that most people who could afford to fly first class wouldn't stand for flying at such an unholy hour.
Fredrick Peter-Paul was from new money, being a partner in a company that harvested plants from the sea and made vitamins out of them. He had been booked for an earlier flight, but had missed it due to the traffic jam after his meeting in Victoria. He had gotten on the next flight, even though it stopped over in the "Chocolate City", as it had come to be known. He wanted to be back in Chicago, with his family.
He was unable to sleep, and instead glanced around at his fellow passengers.
One in a seat near the back of the section was a plump man with thinning black hair in a business suit, sleeping. His black leather briefcase lay beside him. The second was a woman a few seats ahead of the man, and wore a rather ugly lime green dress and gold earrings. She too was asleep.
The last passenger was across from him in the seat away from the window. There was nothing really remarkable about her, apart from the fact that she was a teenager. She wore a simple white blouse and straight black denim pants. A blue ball cap was pulled down over her eyes. Peter-Paul, an avid hockey fan, recognized it to be a Toronto Maple Leafs hat. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders, curling up a little at the very ends, probably the result of a hot iron. Her pale face seemed a bit green, and her breathing was short and nervous.
"I take you don't like flying," he said, before he could stop himself.
"Right on the money," muttered the girl, massaging the bridge of her nose. "It makes me dizzy. I don't actually get sick, but I feel horrible."
"I have some Gravol in my bag, if you want it."
"I've tried everything on the market, nothing works. Thanks, though. Although I would have my doubts about taking drugs from a stranger…"
He chuckled. "I guess so. I'm Fredrick Peter-Paul, I'm in the seaweed business." He stood up and crossed the aisle, offering his hand."
"Wren," she replied, shaking his hand rather weakly, evidence of her state. She raised the brim of her cap to reveal two unmistakable deep purple eyes.
"I know you!" exclaimed Peter-Paul. "I saw you on the news! You're Wonka's kid!"
"I'd really appreciate it if you kept that on the down-low, pal. My life's been a media circus for the past few days, and I really feel like I'm the freak show."
"Ah…" He'd never thought about how the person on the other end of the television felt, being gaped at by the masses like a sideshow act. "I understand. Well, not really. What I mean is, I won't sell this story to the papers for my fifteen minutes of fame."
"'preciate it," she grinned, flashing a sliver of straight, white teeth. Those teeth were the result of three years of braces, several thousand dollars, and countless Tylenol.
"I'm sorry about your mother," started the man, instantly wishing he'd said anything but that.
Back down went the ball cap. "What's gone is gone. I'd rather not talk about it."
"But talk about winning the genetic lottery, eh? I mean, the Willy Wonka is your father! Have you ever met him or heard for him or anything?"
"He didn't know I existed, and I didn't care he existed. That's the way it's been for over fifteen years, and I was beginning to get used to it. Now…" She shook her head slightly. "I've seen him on TV, and he looks like a complete loon. Personally, I don't think he's all there."
"Well, he is a genius. Aren't all genii a little on the edge?"
"He turned a girl into a blueberry!" she protested, the newspaper articles she had read a year ago running in her mind, just as they had done ever since she had been told who her father was. "I think that's a little harsh for chewing gum, don't you? I don't care how bratty a kid is, she doesn't deserve to be a fruit!"
"From what the others said, that girl took the gum when Wonka told her not to. It was her own fault."
"Yeah, but he knew she was a gum-chewer! Why would he tempt her like that? Like her tempted that boy into something that was only desribed at ' television-related equipment', and he walked out of that factory ten feet tall! He knew their weakness, and he exploited them! He set them up to fail! He's some kind of a…" She paused, not wanting to describe her own father as a devil. "A madman," she finished rather weakly.
"But there was the fifth child, that Bucket kid. He became Wonka's heir! Hey… Since there's a biological heir now, what's going to happen to that boy? Are you going to be the heir to the chocolate factory? Just think! I could tell my grandchildren I met the second generation of genius chocolatiers!"
"I don't even want to think about it!" moaned Wren, pulling her cap even further down. "I don't want to make chocolate or candy! Sure, I like the stuff just fine, but it doesn't consume my life! I don't want to lock myself away in a factory and make novelties for the rest of my days!"
The man was surprised at the outburst. "… I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry if I upset you."
"Yeah, well this is a rather upsetting period in my life, okay?" she scowled. "It's not you, it's just the world. I'm scared, okay? I'm scared to meet my father. What if he hates me? What if he does something to me, like he did to those kids?"
"Do you stuff yourself constantly?" he asked quietly.
"No!" snapped Wren, sitting up straight. "Is that a weight crack, buddy? Because if I scream bloody murder and rape, the judge is going to believe me!"
"No, no, no!" he assured her. "You're not fat." Teenage girls! Sheesh! "Are you a rich, spoiled brat?"
"Comfortable middle class, I did chores for allowance, and if I didn't get it I'd do them anyway. The one and only thing my mom splurged on was private schooling for me."
"Do you chew gum?"
"Never been overly fond of the stuff."
"A TV junkie?"
"Sometimes the Discovery Channel, and reruns of Gilligan's Island and Will and Grace when I'm bored out of my skull and I can't find a book. Ellen's not bad, either."
Peter-Paul smiled. "Then I think you'll be just fine. Unless Wonka's got some blood feud over… What did the papers say you were into?"
"Botany and horticulture."
"I seriously doubt it. Besides, think of all the secrets that factory holds. And you'll get to see them! It's every kid's dream! Especially since the eight who went in there and came out didn't say a lot about it."
"Probably because Wonka had thugs on them…" muttered Wren, but she nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Peter-Paul. I feel a little better. About meeting my father, not about flying. I'll still dizzy as hell over that."
