Nora's answer had been gardening. She wanted to garden. It was what she missed from her old location. She missed her cabbages. The poor, green, hardy balls of tightly bunched leaves that had kept her family alive until their luck had changed. She missed every one of those cabbages with their leaves as tightly clasped together as her family's love for each other. She daren't voice any of that to Willy. He might make a joke of it, or laugh, or frown, and it was a matter too close to her heart to allow any of his foibles to cut her with it, however he may not mean to. She'd answered gardening, and left it at that.

Studying her closely, he hadn't answered right away. She wondered what files were being accessed in that brain of his; what options and considerations were being evaluated and discarded. Which one he'd hit upon, decided on, and would make her future. It was a big Factory. Only he knew all it held. She didn't. Feeling she was under a microscope, Nora began to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she had made a mistake.

"Come with me."

Nora let out her breath. He'd headed to the niche with the call button for the Great Glass Elevator. It wasn't too late. She could call it off. Go back to mopping the floor of her home, and call it good. She breathed in air to form the words, but the words refused to form in her throat. She wanted to garden. She coughed instead, her throat dry. "Are we going in that Elevator?"

Bending, with a little ceremony, his gloved finger pushed the call button. "'Natch, dear lady, how else would we get there?"

"By walking?"

"It would take us days," said Willy, listening for the whoosh of the Great Glass Elevator. "Days and days and days!" He was hearing no 'whoosh'. "If you want," he offered, with time on his hands, "we could skate there. I can rustle us up some in-line roller skates. D'ya wanna do that? The corridor floors are like glass, and it's all downhill!"

"No, thank you," said Nora quickly, seeing Willy about to summon an Oompa-Loompa or two. "On second thought, the Elevator is fine."

"Not on second thought," said Willy, as the Great Glass Elevator made its appearance. "On every thought." With a ding, the doors opened. "After you."

"Where is there?" asked Nora, approaching warily.

"There is where the greenhouses are, of course! Where else would one garden?" With the top of his walking-stick, Willy gestured at the Elevator's ceiling. "I put in straps. Aren't they ugly? Until you get the hang of this, you can hang on to one of them."

Nora looked up. Looking again, she saw the straps. "I don't think they're ugly."

"I do. Push the button."

Nora didn't see the issue. The material the straps were made of was as clear as the glass; and there were hundreds of buttons. She said as much.

"Hundreds and hundreds," said Willy happily. "Push that one." He indicated with the tip of his walking-stick.

'All Thumbs', Nora read. She pushed it and Willy giggled.

"Shoulda pushed it with your thumb!"


"I thought you were joking," said Nora, as she surveyed the multitude of fields and greenhouses that stretched before her. It had, indeed, taken some time to arrive here. On a level below the level of the pastures, the land on this level was entirely under cultivation, with greenhouses the main feature.

"Have I not said, I never joke?" said Willy, sweeping from the Great Glass Elevator, and into the environs of the Great Glass Houses. "I believe I have. Which would you prefer? Flowers, veggies, both, or none, now that you see the reality?" As she looked about, Nora's eyes were on stalks. Willy bit back a laugh. It wasn't fair. She couldn't have known. "In the fields, or in the houses?"

"I don't know," said Nora. "It's all so wonderful!"

"Would a tour help you decide?"

"I believe it would," she said, eager to see it all.

"Okey-dokey; tours are me," said Willy with a grin, and off he strode.

Nora followed, confounded by the change in this man, so different was he from the person she saw when he was outside his Factory. It were as if, like these plants he was showing her, that he had his habitat—his Factory—and when he was out of it, he was, as a plant would be, at a disadvantage: an orchid in the freezing weather; a gardenia, touched.

It didn't take Nora long to realize that there was too much here to take in right away. The fields were mostly given to flowers, with Willy informing her that the orchards and more mundane crops were on levels below this one. Nora marveled anew at the energy it must take to power the sunlamps that made all of this possible. In addition to the plants she recognized, the greenhouses contained plants from all over the globe: rare specimens from the Brazilian rain forest, the steppes of Mongolia, the jungles of South East Asia, from Loompaland, and from places so remote they didn't have names.

Seeing Willy plucking a leaf or two, and sampling them as he told her about them, Nora asked if she might try. 'Of course,' Willy had replied. Nora did, and knew that these were the source of the exotic flavors that made Willy's Chocolate Room candies so memorable.

"Do you put any of these into the candy you sell?" asked Nora. "Ya never know," replied Willy, and Nora saw the joy he felt showing-off his accomplishments being eclipsed by his distrust. As much for herself as for him—it was all so overwhelming—she veered the subject. "Do you grow any cabbages?"

The sharpness of the glance Willy sent her took Nora by surprise, his glove squeaking in protest as his hand clamped tighter around his walking-stick. What had she said? Was there anything more innocuous than a cabbage? She sensed the same analysis that she'd been subjected to by the Rolls, start again. She made her face a blank, and did her best to keep the tension she felt from showing in her muscles. She had no idea what her question might mean to him—nothing that she knew of—and it was important that he know that she'd asked what she'd asked because the answer was important to her. She kept that thought in her mind, and waited. In not long, Willy's face became thoughtful, his hand relaxing.

"Don't cabbages mean pain to you?" Willy asked softly.

As sincere as his question was, Nora eyebrows twitched as they meant to begin climbing. She stopped them. In this moment, it were as if Willy had lowered a wall he kept between himself and the world, a wall that being in his Factory softened, and, with that having happened, Nora didn't want to risk a show of surprise putting that wall back in place.

"They do," she said as softly, "but they gave me my family, and that means more to me than the pain."

"They gave you your—" he sighed, "that word?"

His eyes had narrowed, the corners of his mouth hard, but the sigh had been a mix of exasperation and exhaustion. Nora nodded. "They let me keep them with me, alive, until you came along."

Willy's eyebrows twitched in the same way that Nora's had, but he was a master of the mask, and they were easy to quell. "Cabbages are mundane," he said, an edge to his voice. "They are not on this level."

"Then let's go to that level," said Nora. "How do we get there? I'd like to work with cabbages." She turned to go back the way they had come, and began walking. Hearing him close the gap behind her, Willy's walking-stick against her ribs stopped her.

"There are cabbages on this level. I'll show you."


The cabbages Willy took her to were ornamental cabbages, an entire greenhouse full of them, in every hue a cabbage could be. Pale greens that were almost white, deep purples that rivaled the hour before dawn, and every color of greens and blues between. Their ombré shadings stretched in rows and rows, rows stretching to the horizon it seemed. Nora clasped her hands together and fairly danced with delight. Her breath caught in her throat, so beautiful was it to her, so that she could say nothing. Oompa-Loompas worked among the rows, and the care and experience emanating from them made Nora think this was a post of distinction for them.

Willy, by her side, also said nothing. Nora saw he surveyed the scene in the same way he surveyed the Chocolate Room, and especially the chocolate fall. This place was soothing to him, Nora could tell. Rather than use words, she turned her shining eyes to his. With a smile, he nodded, and Nora danced her way further down the row. She reached out her hand, to stroke the cabbage near her, but before she could touch it, another, prettier one, called to her. She was like a butterfly flitting among flowers.

She landed eventually, gentle fingertips tracing the scalloped fringes of the topmost leaves.

"Like 'em?"

"Oh, I do!"

"Me, too."

Nora's hand retreated towards her chest. "Why do you have them? Do you use them in your candy?"

"I don't. I have them because… I have them."

"They're beautiful."

Willy stretched out his hand to the cabbage Nora had been touching. His finger lovingly traced the scallops of the leaves as hers had. "Will this suit you?"

Cabbages. Nora had never felt her benefactor more accessible than she did standing with him here, in a greenhouse full of cabbages. It was the strangest thing to have in common. She would wonder about it, but it would have to be later.

"Oh, yes! I could lose myself here!"

"I'll have Eshle make the arrangements, including a compass. You can start tomorrow. Today you can wander, if you like, but don't interfere until we can show you the ropes." Willy let his hand drop to his side. "Is Charlie's name Charles? You've never said."

Nora let her hand fall upon the warm earth at the base of the cabbage. She loosened the earth as if she were arranging the bedclothes more comfortably around a sleeping baby. "It's Charlie; just Charlie. We like things simple."

"'Kay."

"Is Willy short for something? You've never said."

Willy took a step back. It was a question he had asked dear Dede, back in the day, when side-tables were taller than he, Willy, was. Dede had spelled it out for him. W-I-L-L-Y. 'That's your name boy, all of it,' he'd said. And he'd laughed. Later, Willy had noticed that people thought he was named after his pater. Later still, Willy was thrilled that he wasn't. Now, he let a smile lift the corners of his lips.

"How can Willy be short for something? They don't even start with the same letter."

Nora, seeing the ghost of a smile, smiled back. "Can it be short for another name that starts with 'w'?"

"It could be, but it isn't. Have you ever heard me say, 'my name is'," he waved a hand, "'whatever'—that starts with a 'w'—but you can call me Willy?"

"No," replied Nora.

"That's because my name is Willy. W-I-L-L-Y." And then he smiled again, a genuine smile, as if they were fast friends, sharing a secret. "I like to keep things simple."

Nora couldn't help but grin. Someone in Willy's family did, anyway. There'd been some teeth pulling getting that answer, but she'd gotten it, with their camaraderie maintained. This move the family had made might work out after all. Still with a smile on her face, she couldn't resist the pull of the expanse of cabbages. She began to wander off, her new employer motionless before he headed back to his day.

"Thank you, Willy," she said softly, when she saw that he had turned away.

"Ta, dear lady," floated back to her on cabbage laden air.


The scene at school that afternoon wouldn't be as friendly as the cabbage patch had been, Willy knew that for sure. Mrs. Bucket was his chauffeur again, and again, Willy enjoyed the silence she gave him on the drive.

"Keep the motor running," Willy said as he got out of the car. Nora gave him a thumbs up.

At Willy's request, they were at the school a little early. Children, seeing the car, trickled towards it. Most were still in class. The few who approached handed Mr. Wonka their permission slips. There were frowns on their faces. What looked smudged in the morning was unreadable now. The ink had run all over the pages, in ways that would make Rorhstat inkblots envious. It wasn't Halloween, but the kids were getting the idea that this treat was gonna turn into a trick.

They were right. Collecting the pages, Mr. Wonka smiled at each one and then frowned. When enough of a throng had gathered to give the bad news to the stragglers, Mr. Wonka declared that being illegible made them unusable, and there would be no Factory tours for this lot. Charlie had joined him by now, and Willy made it plain that Charlie had best duck into the Rolls for a quick get away.

"That's no fair, Mr. Wonka," cried one.

"Life isn't fair."

"We'll bring slips tomorrow on our paper," cried another.

"It has to be on Eat-Your-Words paper, thirty minutes or more after it's been filled out, or I won't accept it."

"But then it will always be smeared!" cried a third.

"Is that telling you anything? At least you can eat the paper. It'll be delicious."

"You're a jerk!" cried a fourth.

"You're a meanie!" cried a fifth.

Those cries was taken up by the crowd, with a bunch of 'yeahs' and other expletives thrown in, the teachers beginning to shoo the children towards their buses.

"Who even wants to go in your stupid old factory? You're an idiot!"

That sentiment spread through the crowd, and with the tide advancing, Willy ducked into the car. "I've heard those before," he said, as he closed the door. "'Meanie' is relatively new. Let's boogie. Home, Nora!"

Nora inched her way through the throng. The poor Rolls received slaps and a blow or two. There were definitely gonna be fingerprints on it that would need wiping off.

"I think that's it, Charlie," said Willy, as if a friend had died. "I suspect, jerk, meanie, and idiot that they've decided I am, they'll go back to pitying you."

"If they notice me at all."

"Gotta say, you're gonna stay noticed. There'll be taunts, but that shouldn't last. Talk up constraints."

"Why should Charlie go to that school at all? He can be tutored at the Factory," said Nora.

"He could," sighed Willy, "and maybe he will, but if he can, he ought to do this for now."

"Why? It's ugly."

"Learning to deal with ugly is part of life. He won't learn that in the cloister that is my Factory. I know that. So should you. Don't pretend. Charlie can learn facts anywhere. What different kinds of people make of facts is what ya learn in school."

"You look sad, Willy," said Charlie.

"Charlie, if life were the way I wanted it, there'd be no spies, no one would try to steal, no one would treat my life's work like a garbage bin, and I'd have a tour every Saturday, for ten kids at a time. Heck, fifteen! Twenty!
"I love my Factory, and I love to show it off, but I've learned the hard way that other people don't, and since they don't, and since I don't have a foolproof way to tell who's which, I don't want 'em in the place. So there!"

They rode in silence, the car absorbing the roughness of the road, even as each absorbed the roughness of the situation they were leaving behind.

"Your parens can drive you from now on. I won't be going with you any more. I'll let you know when I think it's okay for you to walk again, if you want to go back to doing that. That shouldn't be much longer."

In the rearview mirror, Nora could see Charlie nodding. She'd ask him later what that was about, as he seemed to know. Willy was huddled in the corner, arms folded, his shoulders as rounded as a turtle's shell.

"See ya," he said, when they reached the Factory, and both Charlie and Nora wondered just how long a time that would be.


"See ya."

His own words still rang in his ears. Willy was back in his office, the frosted light from the huge window bathing the space in its glow. At his desk, Willy twirled his chair to face the wall that held the details of his life's work in recipes and designs. Rising, he went over to it, running his hands along the spines. He couldn't take one out to hold it—he hadn't unlocked them—but he didn't need to. He knew what they held.

What he would need to do was make an office space for Charlie. Next to his, but separate, of course. Facing desks, as if they were detectives, would be too much, as closely as they'd be working together in other rooms, when the time came. Yes, he'd have to work on that: make shelves to hold their collaborations; make shelves for Charlie to fill, when he, Willy, had moved on.

Willy returned the way he had come, skirting his desk, and sinking down onto the sofa where he'd found Terence popping pollen-candy. Terence had thought them meteors. The bowl was still there. Willy picked at one. Had they made Terence's skin turn colors, as if covered in pollen spots? That was the idea. Take enough and you'd be like a car in pollen season: a different color from what you ought to be. Orange would be good. Willy let the candy drop drop back into the bowl.

Terence had been a big help in this move. He'd done most of the heavy lifting, and Willy had to admit he missed him. He'd been overjoyed to see the Square Candy That Looked Round on Terence's nightstand, because he'd been sure it meant that Terence planned to return, but now, Willy could see that Terence hadn't known he'd be going, he'd been spirited away by government goons, and the candy being left behind meant … nothing. Willy sighed. It was an exciting world out there, and rediscovering that, no doubt, Terence had moved on.

Restless, Willy went to the window. The Press hadn't moved on. They were still there, but there were fewer of them, and every day, the world moved on. They'd leave soon, finding new stories to write. His gaze went to the horizon. He couldn't see his old house from here. It lay in a different direction. Dede was in that house, but he would soon be moving out, leaving the house as vacant as the lot the house had left when it moved. That's the way of it. Willy would never know if his … father … had ever come to his Factory. Whether he had stood by its walls, put his chloroform smelling hands on the bars of the gates; seen it, close up. But if he had, he wouldn't have been moved to tell his son about it. The … The words that came to mind to describe how he felt about the man were words Willy didn't like to use.

Willy went back to his desk. Sat. Planted his elbows. Steepled his fingers. Yes, there'd been a lot of movement since Terence had come to town. People moving closer; people moving away. Willy was happy with the people he'd moved closer to. Libby; his mother, although that was only through records; the Bucket family. They were a hoot. Terence. It was a shame Terence ticked both boxes. And while it was true that some things had still to settle, they were moving in the right direction. All-in-all, Willy decided, this move had been a success. Yeah, a success.

Heartened, Willy opened a drawer, and pulled out a sheet of grid-ruled paper. He'd start on those shelves, that office, for Charlie. That was his next move, and he'd make it.

THE END


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 for any faves, follows, or reviews you would like to add.