Author's Note: I hope you're all staying safe during these strange times that we find ourselves in. You'd think I'd find more time to write, but I'm more on the paralyzed-with-anxiety side of things, so I make no promises.
Willy awoke in his own bed.
He'd been having a pleasant dream about a city populated by animals that dressed in human clothes and spoke as well as any person. He'd been asking for directions to the zoo, but the nice bunny police officer seemed completely baffled as to what a zoo was and, well, how did one explain a zoo in a city full of animals?
And then suddenly he was in bed, in his nightclothes. There was no transition from sleeping to waking, from dreaming to not dreaming. It simply was.
He must have made a confused noise, because suddenly Charlie and Mrs. Bucket were standing in the doorway with relieved smiles. Mrs. Bucket left to find Mr. Wilkinson while Charlie came to sit beside Willy's bed.
"What happened?" he asked blearily, still looking around for the bunny officer.
"There was an explosion in the Inventing Room," Charlie began.
"Oh!" Willy gasped. "Yes, I remember now! The taffy machine!" He struggled to sit up but his head spun.
Charlie jumped to his feet. "You shouldn't try to move," he said anxiously. "You've probably got a concussion, a mild one anyway."
Willy let himself slump back down into bed and closed his eyes dizzily. Charlie sat again and resumed his story.
"When I got there, the Oompa Loompas were digging Ms. Stolp out of the taffy. She was buried in it except for her feet. They got to her pretty fast, but the taffy was stubborn enough that she probably couldn't breathe for a while. I didn't know what to do so I...I called an ambulance." Charlie looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, sir."
Willy usually eschewed outside medical treatments. Mr. Wilkinson had some medical training and there was a private doctor they called in for emergencies, but a public hospital meant too many prying eyes and questions once someone realized they were treating reclusive celebrities.
"Charlie," Willy said softly, drawing the boy's attention. "You did the right thing. Mr. Wilkinson or even Dr. Hart wouldn't have been able to treat oxygen deprivation properly."
Charlie breathed out, his shoulders slumping in relief. "I made sure they didn't see the Oompa Loompas. Mr. Wilkinson carried Ms. Stolp practically to the entrance before they arrived."
Willy nodded, then winced as his head pounded. "Good," he said. "What else?"
Charlie fidgeted. "They...they took Amalda too."
Willy's first instinct was to jump out of bed, but since his head was still reminding him that his last movement had been a bad idea, he settled for closing his eyes and taking a slow deep breath through his teeth.
"She was bleeding!" the boy protested, and Willy opened his eyes to see Charlie cowering wide-eyed in his chair. He realized belatedly that to the boy it probably sounded like he was hissing in anger.
He sighed. "I'm sorry. That...was right too. She was bleeding?" Everything after the explosion was a blur to him.
Charlie nodded. "They said she had a concussion and might need stitches on her head. And probably a broken rib and some other bruises. Mr. Wilkinson went with them both, after he looked at you and said you probably weren't too bad."
"Thank goodness for small favors," Willy murmured. While he hated the idea of two of his guests ending up in the hospital, he could only imagine how everyone would have reacted if Willy Wonka himself was wheeled in on a stretcher.
Mr. Wilkinson appeared in the doorway then, and Willy stared at him dumbly. "I thought you were at the hospital," he asked.
Mr. Wilkinson shot a glance at Charlie. "That was yesterday," Charlie answered.
"Good lord," Willy said, as Mr. Wilkinson approached. "How are the ladies?"
"Discharged," Mr. Wilkinson replied, his long fingers probing at the lump on Willy's head and examining his reactions. "Ms. McCaine needed a few stitches but they'll be right as rain with a little time." Charlie and Willy both breathed sighs of relief.
Mr. Wilkinson sat back and nodded. "And you as well, sir. No permanent harm done. But you should rest more."
Willy wanted to protest, but he did feel very tired. Mr. Wilkinson and Charlie were already standing and moving towards the door as Willy tried to remember why he didn't want to sleep, but unconsciousness won before he could figure it out.
Amalda went back to work.
She worried it would be awkward. She had taken the day off for what she called "the factory tour" but everyone knew was some sort of job interview. Then she'd taken the next two days off unexpectedly due to her hospital stay. How did you even explain that? Sorry my job interview went so poorly I ended up in the hospital?
In reality, very few people knew what had happened. One or two of her co-workers, the ones who had ended up covering her duties, questioned her about her absence, but in the subtle way of those who were curious but didn't want to pry.
She read on the news about a bit of the aftermath. Ms. Stolp had apparently left the hospital the same day as Amalda, though they hadn't seen each other. Ms. Stolp had made only a few comments to the press, a mix of glowing praise for Mr. Wonka's genius and gratitude that she'd had a chance to peek behind the curtain. Of her accident, she only said abashedly that her curiosity had gotten her in trouble.
Each of the other golden ticket winners had received some attention in the news, but not nearly as much as the first golden ticket contest had generated. In Ms. Weston's one good contribution, her father's disdain and wealthy connections had discouraged a lot of reporters from pestering any of them, not just Ms. Weston herself. Amalda herself had only seen one photographer at the zoo. He snapped a few pictures, asked her for a statement (she called it a delightful adventure, borrowed Ms. Stolp's line about curiosity and trouble, and sent a heartfelt thank you to Mr. Wonka and Mr. Bucket), and that was the end of it.
So she carried on as usual. The rib she had broken ached at times, but it didn't prevent her from doing anything she needed to do, so she was grateful for that.
She did wonder about Willy and Charlie. She had enjoyed their brief friendship, but she had no way to reach out to them, nor was she sure if such contact would be welcome. And while she was certain that Willy must have recovered from his injuries, she still found herself worrying.
At least she could write to Ms. Stolp. Of all the other women, Amalda had enjoyed her company the most and she was determined to reconnect with her. Finding her bakery wouldn't be difficult, and it would give her someone to reminiscence with.
It was hard to believe she had only spent a single day in the factory. She often found herself remembering the magical experiences late at night, when she was alone in her small house. Caricatures of the Oompa Loompas and the different rooms of the chocolate factory made their way into her stories. It helped remind her that it had all really happened.
For the first time, Amalda found herself imagining a life beyond the zoo. She had spent so many years thinking only of how to take care of her father and herself, but now that she only had herself to think about, she started to realize that she really had nothing binding her to the zoo. While it was an amazing job opportunity that she would normally not have been able to obtain, it was also something that she felt was not truly hers. The zoo director had made it especially clear how he felt about a young woman taking over such a position, and while he enjoyed saving money and his wife was sympathetic toward Amalda, she knew the wrong kind of attention would easily sway him and her hard-won livelihood would disappear before her eyes. Or what if he decided to retire?
Amalda sighed to herself. She had hoped that her worries about her future were over, but now it seemed like they would never end.
Charlie went back to work.
While Mr. Wonka was recovering, he practiced all of the things that Mr. Wonka had been teaching him about running a factory.
He met with the Oompa Loompas in the morning, reviewing the day's work and listening to anything they wanted to discuss. He was relieved that they treated him like an adult and not a child, tactfully making suggestions when Charlie floundered while still making it clear that he was in charge and they expected him to lead. He was actually probably learning more from the Oompa Loompas than he had while just watching how Mr. Wonka ran things.
After lunch he met with Mr. Wilkinson, sometimes for regular school lessons, but sometimes on actual business matters. Charlie was pretty sure that Mr. Wilkinson was just trying to distract him from worrying about Mr. Wonka and how poorly Charlie's golden ticket plan had gone. Mr. Wilkinson was used to managing things for Mr. Wonka, so there was no reason for him to involve Charlie unless he had an ulterior motive. Still, Charlie thought it was kind of him. Even if that side of managing the factory was extremely boring.
He did not go to the Inventing Room. It had been cleaned and the equipment repaired, but without Mr. Wonka it just didn't feel...right.
He spent some time with his family, until his mother realized he was hiding and ordered him out of the house. "Charlie Bucket, you're in charge of this factory right now. Go do something about it!"
So he went to his little desk in Mr. Wonka's office and drafted letters to each of his golden ticket winners, even Ms. Weston, apologizing for all of the trouble. He made sure to include some bits about the position no longer being available, thank you for applying, etc. etc. so they wouldn't think he was just writing to apologize...but that's really that's what he was doing.
He left the letters with Mr. Wilkinson to review and post, then went to learn more from the Oompa Loompas.
Belinda Stolp went back to work.
Truth be told, she'd missed her little bakery. It was only her and her assistant, Chloe, who managed the shop while Belinda was busy with the mixing and the baking and the decorating. She knew where everything was, what everything did, and most importantly, she knew what was safe and what was dangerous.
Belinda hadn't lied when she'd told the reporters that she was honored to get a glimpse inside the famous chocolate factory, but she had definitely learned her lesson about messing with another baker's recipe. She'd been told about the taffy explosion after the fact, by a terse Mr. Wilkinson, but she couldn't remember any details beyond first entering the Inventing Room. It was probably for the best. She would put the whole incident behind her and get back to work on her own recipes.
It completely surprised her to receive a letter from the factory one day, sealed shut with what looked suspiciously like a melted chocolate stamp. She sniffed it, uncertain if it was the stamp or the whole letter that smelled like chocolate, and decided it was not worth tasting it to find out.
Charlie's letter was charming and she saw it immediately for what it was, an awkward olive branch from a young man who had a brilliant idea go horribly wrong. She wrote back the very next day, emphasizing how very sincerely she enjoyed meeting him and Mr. Wonka, and that she took full responsibility for her foolish actions and did not at all blame either of them. She signed her name with a flourish, then after a moment of thought added a post-script indicating that she was having a bit of trouble with the filling for her latest Danish pastry and would he possibly have any advice?
She dropped the envelope in the mail with a sense of satisfaction. Even if Charlie didn't reply, she was sure that her enthusiastic letter would help assuage his guilt.
Two weeks later, she received another letter, but not from Charlie. From Mr. Wonka himself. He had some thoughts about her pastry filling, and he had some questions for her about a chocolate wafer cookie he was developing. As astonishing as it was to think of herself offering the great chocolatier advice, Belinda knew her own work was good and so she sent back her answers as confidently as she could.
It began a correspondence between them that she found both enjoyable and challenging. Charlie would sometimes include a short note as well, usually with a story about something funny (and not dangerous) that had happened in the factory or something interesting the Oompa Loompas had done. He always referred to them as "my little friends". Belinda got the impression that they were both glad to have someone else to talk to that knew a few of their secrets and respected their privacy. She began to feel as if she had adopted a brother and a nephew.
She also received a letter from Amalda once, asking the polite questions such as if she had recovered from their mutual adventure and how had her business fared in her absence, but again Belinda could read between the lines and saw that Amalda was looking for a friend. She had enjoyed their brief acquaintance and again quickly wrote back, eager for news from outside the walls of the chocolate factory. She had assumed that Amalda would be offered the job they had all supposedly been vying for, or at least that she too would have kept in touch with Charlie and Mr. Wonka, seeing as she lived in the same town.
Unfortunately, her reply was returned unopened, with a note that the recipient was no longer at that address.
Concerned, she wrote to Mr. Wonka, asking him for news of Amalda.
Willy Wonka went back to work.
It was a full week before he was allowed out of bed, and another before he was allowed out of his rooms and into the factory proper, and even then he felt like he was constantly turning around to find either Mrs. Bucket watching him with concern or Mr. Wilkinson giving him that disappointed glare. It wasn't his fault Charlie's idea had gone so wrong, he thought uncharitably, then grimaced at himself. It wasn't Charlie's fault either, he reprimanded himself. Then he reminded himself that he was supposed to be thinking about chocolate, not women.
Then he realized he was thinking about women, or one woman in particular, and then he would grumble at himself about that.
In any event, he was finding it very difficult to concentrate.
Ms. Stolp's letters were a welcome distraction. He had never seriously considered a collaboration before, but having someone to bounce his ideas off of was actually a wonderful help. He was careful to always keep the tone polite and professional, and he appreciated that Ms. Stolp did the same.
None of the other women replied to Charlie's letters, mostly to Mr. Wonka's relief. Mostly.
He tried not to think about how well he had got on with Amalda.
He tried not to think about how little experience he had with women, and whether he might like to have some more, and whether he was really, as Charlie had implied, a little bit lonely. He tried not to wonder why he could be surrounded by Oompa Loompas and Charlie and the Buckets and Mr. Wilkinson and the most wonderful chocolate factory in the world...and still somehow feel that it was no longer enough.
He did not go to the zoo. But he didn't bother trying to deny that he thought about it. He thought about the lion king and the magical walrus and the clever monkeys. He had never been interested in zoos or wild animals before, but then he'd never seen them through Amalda's eyes.
And what would happen if he did go? It had been many years since he ventured outside of the factory. Would he even know how to navigate through ordinary streets with ordinary people? Would the whole world seem as strange to him as his factory did to everyone else? How did one even get to the zoo? Where was it exactly? It couldn't be too far. Mr. Wilkinson would probably know. What would Willy even do when he got there? Did he really want to look at animals in cages, even if they had been given magical histories? Or would he be looking for things that weren't meant to be noticed? People who weren't meant to be noticed. Would she even want to be noticed by him?
His distraction was obvious to everyone around him. Charlie started making veiled comments about the paperwork piling up and how they did still need some help. When Willy joined the Buckets for dinner, Mrs. Bucket reminisced about meeting Charlie's father. It took a few meals before he realized she was subtly offering him advice on how to woo a woman. Mr. Wilkinson offhandedly reminded him that he was available as a chauffeur should the service be needed.
But still, he did not go to the zoo.
Another letter arrived from Ms. Stolp and Willy hoped it would contain something especially puzzling that might occupy his whole mind and prevent it from getting lost in daydreams. But this letter did not contain any tricky recipes or challenging new ideas or references to rare ingredients. Instead, it had him leaping up from his half-chair where he'd been sitting at his half-desk. He had grabbed his hat and cane and was halfway across his office before he realized what he was doing. He froze, actually blushing slightly, feeling Charlie's eyes on him.
Without turning to look at the boy, he said, "I'm going out."
"O-oh." Willy could picture Charlie's expression of wide-eyed shock even without seeing it. "Where...are you...going?" Maybe it would be closer to confusion instead of shock. After all, everyone knew that Willy Wonka never left his factory.
Willy could feel the blush creeping across the back of his neck, where he was sure it would be visible even without him turning around. "To the zoo!" he said quickly, then hurried out the door as fast as he could.
Not so fast that he didn't hear Charlie's whoop of delight, and he couldn't help but grin briefly in response.
Then he remembered the contents of the letter and his smile slipped away into a worried frown.
Where was Amalda?