Dr. Wilbur Wonka looked forward to his evening paper and always had: it was all you ever wanted to know—and a lot you didn't—about the world and the local goings-on, delivered right to your doorstep. It was very convenient, made all the more so, as Dr. Wonka's doorstep wasn't convenient to anything. Dr. Wonka lived alone, and so did his house; which is to say, he had no nearby neighbors.
Dr. Wonka liked it that way. It made it harder for people to pester him with nosey questions, and though the questions he wanted avoided changed over the years, they remained no less nosey, or pesky.
For years now, the most pesky question he faced from his deluded, simpering, meddling patients was: "Are you related to Willy Wonka, the famous Chocolatier?" That question made him want to spit, and rather than answer it, he often asked them to spit—he was a dentist, and he could do that—but on this night, as he stooped to retrieve the evening edition from his stoop, he allowed that that loathsome question was marginally preferable to the pesky question of many years ago: "Whatever happened to Willy?" which, he allowed, was easier to answer than the most pesky question of all the pesky questions, from even more years ago: "Whatever happened to Mina?"
Even thinking about that question, even after all these years, in the otherwise even-minded Dr. Wonka, still managed to elicit from him the merest of shudders. Dr. Wonka tried—and failed—to stop himself from looking furtively about as the answer entered his head, but after a moment, with a short, dry laugh, he regained control of himself. He needn't be concerned: as usual, there were only the wind and stars to see him.
Rising with difficulty, Dr. Wonka placed the fingers of his right hand against his side, snaking the pressure he applied there toward his back. It did little to quell the ghost of the twinge of pain he felt, for not the first time, but the action helped him feel he was addressing it. The pain came more often now, usually when he was bending, and it bothered him just a little he was losing weight, for no reason. The pain, like the questions, was pesky, but unlike the questions, it was beginning to pester him more of the time. The people asking the questions after all, sharing the fate of his practice, had all but died out.
These thoughts! Turning to re-enter his house, his eyes becoming slits of annoyance, Dr. Wonka slapped the paper he held roughly against his other hand, as if the noise of the slap would scare away the ghosts his thoughts conjured up. It worked well enough, and Dr. Wonka brusquely closed the door of his house—and of his mind, with the ghosts shut out, as effectively as they always were.
Before the light began to fade, and well before the ghost of the thought formed in Dr. Wonka's head to retrieve his newspaper, Nora Bucket stared at a ghost herself: the ghost of Willy Wonka's childhood home. It left her aghast. "I never thought you meant this literally, Terence!" she cried out, fiercely clutching Charlie's shoulders, planting him to the spot as if Charlie might also disappear, like the house they didn't see. "It's impossible! You can't do it."
"This proves with the right motivation, you can," was Terence's terse reply.
"A monster's motivation," breathed Nora, still struggling to take in what she wasn't seeing, and what she was.
"Mum!" Charlie, cried out, twisting. "That's too tight."
Nora snatched her hands away. "I'm sorry, dear."
"That's okay, Mum," Charlie said kindly, rubbing a shoulder. His Mum looked shook up, but Charlie was a child, and when Terence said, during the dinner he attended at the Bucket house after Charlie's private tour, that Dr. Wonka moved Willy's entire house in one afternoon, that's exactly what Charlie thought Terence meant. This must be where the house had stood, and 'no house' is exactly what Charlie expected to see. "Is this the memory, Terence?"
"The memory?" echoed Nora.
"Sure," said Charlie, a little exasperated at his normally quick-witted mother. "We were working in his office after school on Friday— you know, Mum— and he moved the old drafting table he designed the Factory on next to his desk, so I could sit at it, and we could see it together, to plan how to move the house."
Terence pricked up his ears. "How'd that go?"
"Good for a minute. Willy was all excited, and spun a circle in his chair. The circle moved him to the table." Charlie, remembering, smiled, and then laughed a little as he had at the time. "Then he picked up a pencil to make a list of things we should do, and then he got all tight, and stopped the pencil in mid-air, and froze for a minute, and then he put it down." Charlie frowned. "Then he put his head in his arms on the table, and then he sat up after a while, and then he pushed his chair away from the table and said he was sorry, but he couldn't have the memory of the memory in his office or he could never use his office again, and he couldn't have that!"
Taken by the words' simplicity—Charlie's translation of Willy's gobbledygook speak no doubt—this time Nora didn't fault Willy for his indulgence in verbal obscurity: if this happened to her, she'd find ways of saying it without saying it, too.
Terence let it all wash over him. "And then?"
"And then we spent the rest of the time with the Oompa-Loompas, moving the drafting table to Reception instead, and then it was time for dinner."
Reception? Nora pursed her lips at the revelation. She had seen that room, forgetting to list it in her zeal to keep the list she gave Terence short. On Sunday, asking Charlie to show her and Noah where he was working, Charlie had shown them the room with the drafting table. It was a lovely drafting table, a beautiful antique, in a lovely room, and Nora had thought it Willy's office: it looked exactly like one. Nora nervously made a fist, afraid to ask, afraid she'd shortchanged Willy again, but kneeling in front of Charlie, bravely she did ask. "That wasn't Willy's office, Charlie?"
"No, Mum," was Charlie's exasperated answer. "Didn't you see the button I pushed on the Elevator to get there? It said 'Deception', because it's 'Reception' and not his office. It's an office just for show, for people he doesn't want to know better. But it's an okay place to work. He says he hardly ever goes there, so he doesn't care about memories there, and anyway, he said he won't have to remember the memory, if someone else does it."
Nora sat back on her heels, letting her hands drop into her lap, thinking over all she'd seen and heard since coming here. It was an easy stance to retreat to; her body felt too heavy with distress and sadness to do anything else. Charlie waited patiently. The way, Nora knew, he did with people not coping well, and it was odd for her to think Charlie thought her one of those. Terence was equally patient, and she was grateful for that, too.
Like an invisible crutch, their patience brought Nora out of her gloom: as awful as this was, this was also ancient history, and having survived this once, Nora didn't blame Willy if he chose not to try for twice. Taking Charlie's hand in hers, she gave it a little squeeze. "I guess Willy prefers not to dig this up, dear," she said, with a feeble smile.
Terence, not believing his ears, almost slapped his thigh. Instead, he grinned delightedly, and held out a hand to help her up. "Why, Mrs. Bucket! I do declare! Did you just make a joke? With a pun? Why, I believe there's hope for you yet— Willy would be proud of you."
Nora tilted her head to look at Terence seriously. "I hope so. Right now, I'm one of the people who doesn't know better, and I know that better change."
Terence wiggled the fingers of the hand she wasn't taking in encouragement. "You are getting the hang of this, aren't you? Come on, I'll help you up."
Nora took his hand.
"Can I explore?" implored Charlie, now that his Mum looked out of her funk. "This looks like a park."
With Terence's help, Nora got back to her feet. "Of course, dear, we'll watch from here, but it'll be dark soon so make the most of it."
Smiling, Charlie ran off.
"I thought that room was his office, Terence."
Terence cocked a brow. "Why would it matter?"
Nora twisted her hands together. "Do you remember Willy took Charlie's toothpaste cap Factory model back to the Factory with him?"
Terence nodded, the grin returning. "You mean after he stumbled across it taking your house apart, while the rest of us were eating dinner Wednesday night? Yeah, I remember. Charlie gave him the okay. What about it?"
"That model was the first thing we saw when he showed us our suite. It was on the coffee table— front and center— and having it there made us all feel like we were a part of the Factory already."
"Sounds like a nice gesture." Terence didn't see the problem, but he wondered whose idea that really was: Willy might like it when he heard it, but he probably wasn't the one to think of it.
"It was a nice gesture— surprisingly so, considering how awkward things are overall." Nora pursed her lips. "The next morning, Willy stopped by— ostensibly to see we had all we needed— he didn't stay," her tone made it clear she thought he should have, and she bit her lip not to start judging again, "but I really think it was only to get the model back. He asked if he could take it. He said he was going to keep it in his office."
"That sounds nice, too," said Terence, now sure putting the model in the suite was someone else's idea. Doris came to mind.
"Charlie was thrilled. He ran right over to the model, picked it up, and made a little ceremony of handing it over. Bowing he said: 'Giving you this, I give you this.' As a gift, you see."
Hearing Charlie's words, Terence did see, and he nodded. Charlie was a natural, and that probably pleased Willy more than the model. "I'll bet Willy was thrilled."
"He was all smiles, and bowing himself as he took it, he said: 'Taken with this, I'm taking this, and thank you.' And then they both laughed, and Willy twirled around and was off with it, practically dancing down the hallway. Come to think of it, Grandpa George tried to follow him. I don't know why, but he gave it up pretty quick." Nora was shaking her head sadly.
Terence found her reaction perplexing. "Perhaps I'm missing something, but personally, I don't find that a sad story. Why do you?"
Nora looked at Terence fiercely. "I told you. I thought that room was his office. He said he was keeping Charlie's Factory model in his office. When it wasn't there, I thought he was lying. I keep faulting him— coming to the wrong conclusions..." Angry with herself, Nora hunted for a way to share the blame, and found one. "But he's so standoff-ish, he makes it easy."
Annoyance shot through Terence like electricity. "You mean unlike other reclusive people you know, who warm right up to people who fault them and draw the wrong conclusions about them?" he snapped. "And don't think Willy doesn't know you're doing it."
Nora remembered Willy's stare on Saturday morning and didn't doubt Terence for a minute. She lowered her head contritely. Terence was right to snap. "I'm sorry about what I said back at the house. I take it all back."
Glad enough of the apology, the glib retraction Nora tacked on the end of it sent Terence's annoyance level skyrocketing. "Blah, blah, sticks and stones, blah, blah..." He broke off, shaking his head, trying to bring his irritation under control. "D' ya remember that rhyme? Words will never hurt me? Well, they say the pen is mightier than the sword, and that means words. Words, if you ask me, cut as deep— or deeper— as swords do. So if you want to avoid these cuts, you'd best not say these words you think you might like to take back later." He'd been speaking to her as a professor might speak to a recalcitrant student, but now Terence looked at her impassively, and his voice sharpened. "You know damn well you really can't take them back."
Nora's teeth were on her lower lip for the second time in less than five minutes. She did know, and she knew she didn't want to lose Terence as an ally: from his tone, it seemed she might. "I am sorry. What happened to Willy after this?" she asked quietly.
Terence turned away, his irritation smoldering, wondering if he was wasting his time. A closed mind is a closed mind, and he knew Willy would walk away from Nora without a second thought or a backward glance. But Terence saw Charlie exploring happily, and Willy had hopes. Nora's question showed a willingness to keep trying, so making an effort, Terence turned back. "I'm sorry, too," he said, deliberately keeping his voice light. "I didn't mean to preach back there, but with this question you've just asked, now I will: that very night, Willy met his godparents, and he lived with them for years, across the street." Terence pivoted to show her, pointing. "Right. Over. There. That's where they lived, all along." Terence grinned. "As Willy would say: 'Isn't that neat?'"
Nora saw the grin, and felt relief. "Godparents?"
Terence held up both hands in a gesture of emptiness. "I don't know what else you'd call them. Willy needed parents, and God provided them. In my book, that makes them godparents."
Nora peered at the townhouse, down and across the street, with real curiosity. "Are they still there?"
"His godfather is, but his godmother died many years ago. Before Cherry Street— long before Cherry Street. Stroke, and then pneumonia. He didn't have her for long— about three years— four, if you count the stroke. Willy took care of her, until the end."
Nora's voice rose half an octave, following her eyebrows. "He did? Willy told you all this?"
"No. He didn't tell me any of it. He wouldn't. He told you, and you told me, and then I uncovered the details."
"Terence! Mum! Come look at this!" Charlie's call spilt the quiet. He was standing at the back of the lot: not in the center, but off to one side, and he was looking at something on the ground, in a spot that was once the premises' garden.
Terence broke off, and started toward Charlie. "We better look. I've been over this, but not carefully, and not lately."
Nora trotted to catch up. "How can I tell you a thing I didn't know?"
Terence laughed. "You told me what Martha said. That Willy and her grandfather knew each other well. Willy could have sent anyone. He sent her. He knew one of us would investigate that remark, and he didn't mind which one of us it was."
Nora was beginning to see: Willy communicated at first in clues, but she also knew Terence was being kind. If investigating that tidbit of information were up to her, Willy would still be waiting.
Terence read her thoughts. "I expect he knew it would be me. That sort of thing is right up my ally, and you had your hands full with your family." Suddenly, Terence halted. "Hey!" He looked at Nora, a few paces ahead of him now, as she stopped and turned, looking back. "It also gave me something to do— kept me in town, cooling my heels." Knitting his brow, Terence paused for a second, and then snapped his fingers. "And ya know what? So does heading up this house moving project." Smiling, he took up his walk again. "Criminy, lass! I've been had!"
Nora was smiling now; the alternate explanation lightening the mood considerably. Keeping a friend in town was so much more appealing an excuse for handing over the project than an appalling act of cruelty, decades later still as raw as the day it happened. Terence smiled too, seeing Nora more relaxed. He'd said it, but he'd been there at the asking: he knew he hadn't been had.
As they approached, Charlie spread his arms and turned a circle. "Look at all these stones. Someone put them here."
Set flat in the earth, Terence missed seeing these stones when he came here looking for Dr. Wonka in the Fall, because leaves covered them, and later, because he hadn't ventured in this far. It didn't matter: the snow that lay over everything would have hidden them. But last week was unseasonably warm, and the snow melted, and this week, only a skiff of snow had fallen to hide the ground. The winter sun's warmth, weak though it was, was enough to melt the snow on top of the dark stones, leaving the white of the snow between them, and now, the stones stood out in stark relief.
Easy to see, it was hard to know what to make of them. Polished granite, with no other markings, not a one was the same as any other, though they shared similarities. Of varying lengths, some stones were many feet long, some no more than a foot; each had a degree of curve, some pronounced, and some, more than one; each had a smooth edge, and a scalloped edge. A few had scallops on both edges. As long as the stones were, none was very wide, and the effect was one of delicacy.
Terence walked back to where the inlay stopped, and saw the area covered was a large one: thirty or forty feet across. Nora and Charlie walked with him.
"The longest ones are farthest out," observed Charlie.
"None of them touch each other," said Nora, as she noticed something else. "Why are some clumped closely together, and some are almost by themselves?"
Terence had no answer. He was still looking. As random as the stones' placement seemed, the negative space of the snow told otherwise. The clumps of stones closer together mostly occurred near the design's center, and though not centered on the lot, there was a center. Walking along the path of snow between the stones, Terence found himself guided there, and he followed the snow path until he stood at its end. Laid flat in the earth like the others, of the same polished granite, was an oblong stone, three feet long, with rounded corners.
Nora moved to join him, cutting across the stones to do it. Watching her made Terence think. "This reminds me of the labyrinth Willy showed me at Chartres Cathedral."
"Labyrinth?" asked Charlie.
Terence nodded. "Ya know the difference between a maze and a labyrinth, Charlie?"
Charlie shook his head, and Nora looked interested, too. "I didn't know either. Willy told me. In a maze there are wrong turns you can take, but a labyrinth has no wrong turns. It's only a path, not a puzzle. A path you must follow, no matter how twisty and turn-y." Terence pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, as if what he was saying was making him cold. "Willy said it's a path where trying to take shortcuts will get you no where."
Nora shivered as a puff of wind caught her hair, and stung her cheek. She was standing beside Terence, but she hadn't followed the path. "I guess I'm no where, then," she sighed. She tried to say it lightly, but to her ears it sounded forced. Shifting her weight, she turned back to see Charlie, who hadn't followed them back into the flat-stone garden. "It's not a very clear path. You can barely make it out."
Terence didn't disagree, and at a loss to make any sense of it, he held his peace.
"Aren't they back yet?"
Spinning on his heels at the peevishly voiced, out-of-the-blue question, Noah practically jumped out of his skin. Caught daydreaming as he unloaded crates, Noah hadn't expected Willy Wonka to sneak up behind him, but Willy had, appearing from wherever it was that Willy went, disapprovingly holding his pocket watch in his hand. Quickly recovering from his surprise, Noah turned back to his work, noting the Oompa-Loompas nearby hadn't even broken stride. "Not yet," answered Noah mildly, doing his best not to laugh. As laid back as he was, high-strung people amused Noah no end, and Willy Wonka gave 'high-strung' new meaning.
Willy put his pocket watch away, and shifted his weight to his other foot. Noah wasn't concerned about a thing that should concern him. "Why aren't they back?" asked Willy politely, trying a new tack. "It's time to think about dinner."
"Search me," answered Noah, just as mildly as before. Noah had made another trip with the truck, without Willy, who stayed in the Factory, and Noah generously shared what he knew. "They left."
"Left?" Willy squeaked.
"Left," affirmed Noah, stopping his work to give Willy his full attention. "And don't worry about dinner," said Noah, with a slight smile, "we'll manage on our own."
Willy looked for the reproach in Noah's words, or tone—Noah was a paren, after all—but found none. Surprised by the lack, Willy, disarmed, hefted his walking stick. Noah's choice of words wasn't lost on him, and Willy admired their subtlety the more so, because they contained no ill will: he'd left the Buckets on their own since they'd arrived. Maybe that wasn't nice, or smart, but Willy didn't fool himself: he hadn't shown them anything, because he wasn't entirely sure he'd have them stay. So why not have them do what they'd always done? And why should that bother them? Stay in bed for the grandparents, with Nora taking care of them— Willy still couldn't figure out why the grandparents hadn't gotten out of that bed, and taken advantage of the lovely bedrooms in that lovely suite, but they hadn't: they were in that bed this minute, in the middle of the suite's living room— hmm… and in the meantime, Noah did his toothpaste factory thing, and Charlie did his school thing, and he did his things, and it could go on like that, if you asked him, until the house was in place. But maybe it couldn't. Maybe looking for them now, and having them help him, meant he'd made up his mind. Today had been fun; and different; and scary, but for sure something worth repeating. Willy put the walking stick he'd been twisting in his hands back down by his side. "Noah."
Noah, having leisurely watched the cogs in Willy's head turn, waited for Willy to continue, but Willy just stood there, looking at him: expecting something from him. "Willy?" he ventured.
"When they get back, find me. I'll make dinner tonight. Thank you for helping today."
"Splendiferous," said Noah, as if this happened all the time, and was no big deal. "And I'm glad to help." As if to prove the point, he added, "They went to look at something, but as it's dark now, I expect they'll be back any time. How do I find you?"
Willy turned, and was walking away, waving a hand toward the Oompa-Loompas. "Find any of them, and tell them. They'll find me." Then he turned back, his dark violet eyes intensely serious. "What do you mean, they went to look at something? What something?"
"I don't know— something about the house."
"Hmm." Willy twisted his cane again, but in a moment, he dropped it back to his side, and lifting his head, laughed at himself for missing what Terence was up to. "Dear Terence. Sometimes he gets ahead of me." With a conspiratorial nod to Noah, Willy gleefully stabbed a determined finger into the air. "But I know just what to do to get them back."
Sucking his breath in over his teeth with shock, the noise discordant in the quiet room, Dr. Wonka stabbed his bony finger at the page of newsprint, as if stabbing the name would stab the man. Terence James! That no good, weasel-faced, apple-cart-upsetting, useless piece of pond scum was back in town! Impossible! With dread, Dr. Wonka removed his finger from the page. Though smudged, the name was still there.
Beautification Benefits Buckets read the blurb on the community page. Dump does double take to become park. Mr. Terence James, spokesman for Mr. Willy Wonka, advises Mr. Wonka is presenting the town with a new park, on what is now a wasteland at the edge of town. Work on the project has already begun. As part of the reclamation, the Bucket house, situated on the site, is moving to an, as yet, undisclosed location, but a Wonka truck, loaded with crates containing pieces of the Bucket house, returned to the Wonka Factory. Mr. Wonka was unavailable for comment, but the town commends his generosity in creating this new park for the town's enjoyment.
Dr. Wonka dropped the newspaper, and threw himself back in his chair. Terence James and The Boy! Those two pieces of plaque were working together again! In his fury, Dr. Wonka stabbed his finger into the air, vowing as he did to upset whatever apple cart The Boy, and that interloper, and these... these unknown Buckets were setting up. He winced only slightly at the pain in his side that stabbed him back.
Thank you dionne dance, 07kattho, SNAPE IS SNAPE, and Kate2015: your reviews are the gift that keeps on giving, providing both encouragement and inspiration. I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.
