Author's Notes: Readers! Hello! This is new for me, writing at the beginning of a chapter. It feels so awkward that I may not make a habit of it. But I wanted to answer something that was asked in a review last time that I didn't answer in the actual chapter. It's about the yellow birds that rescued the kite from the tree, as well as the one Jane received as a birthday gift. They're called saffron finches, and they're quite charming. I was actually delighted that someone cared enough to ask about what sort of bird they were, so thank you! There's a lot more about the birds in this chapter, so I hope by the end, the rest of your questions will be answered as well. So yes, that's enough of my babbling for now. Enjoy the chapter, and I'll have a little note at the end, too.
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Though he had forgotten about her for quite some time, there came a windy day when the boy was out with a kite again and recalled the girl and her bird, and he became quite desperate to see them both again. Running along the walk in the park, he most deliberately flew the kite directly into a tree.
He waited excitedly for several minutes, glancing around anxiously for the face he was just starting to remember—those bright eyes and high cheekbones framed by chestnut-colored locks. However, soon nearly fifteen minutes had passed and the boy found himself shifting his weight from one foot to another anxiously. There was no one but an uppity woman pushing a perambulator and a little old woman feeding ducks by the pond.
It occurred to the boy that maybe the girl had other things to do than to simply pop up whenever a person's kite was stuck. Didn't most people? But all the same, he had been quite sure that she would come.
Resigned, he let out some more slack on the kite string so he could sit down on the path. He thought of calling his own bird, Edmund, but recalled that before one bord had not been enough to free the kite, and why should this be any different?
Needless to say, as the sun passed across the sky, the boy grew quite bored. But what's more, he started to feel something itchy and cool in his chest. He did his best to ignore the thing that had settled itself inside him, but eventually he could no longer keep from acknowledging it. The thing that itched like a poorly knitted sweater was a beast most commonly known as loneliness.
Desperate to rid himself of the creature, the boy tugged at the kite string, but the tree tugged back, and its twiggy branches threatened to tear at the kite.
"Excuse me," said a vaguely familiar voice, "but do you need some help?"
The boy looked up hopefully, and it was just as he had suspected: the girl had returned with a little yellow bird on either shoulder.
"He came looking for me. Made quite a fuss, I must say," she said, tilting her head to gesture to the more vibrant of the two birds.
"Oh good," the boy said, "you see I've gotten my kite stuck again. But now you're hear the birds can get it down again right quick." He began to look very cheerful as the itchy coldness disappeared, and he quickly scambled to his feet.
"The birds? Oh, well I don't see why that's necessary," the girl said. "Yours has already flown quite some way to collect me."
"But my kite…" he said.
"Yes, it's too bad you've got it stuck again. Most people learn to be careful after the first time, you know. But no matter; Here." The girl snapped her fingers and the kite floated to the ground gracefully without a tear in it at all.
The boy's eyes widened. "But how…?"
"Excuse me? How what?"
"How'd you get it down?"
The girl looked puzzled and almost a little exasperated. "What on earth do you mean? I just got it. That's all."
The boy meant to inquire further, but something in her eyes made him change his mind. "Thank you," he said.
"You're quite welcome. Now what was it you needed my help with?"
What strange things she said. Hadn't she just helped him? "It was the kite, that's all, and you've just done it," he said tentatively.
The girl shook her head. "That can't have been it. Like I said, people tend to learn about taking care with kites the first time around. And he is still insisting I stay." Again, she angled her head towards the bird on her right shoulder, who chirped in agreement. "I'd ask him what I'm needed for, but he's babbling so fast, and with such a strong accent. I can't hardly make out a word of it."
Then it occurred to the boy. Of course she hadn't come because of the kite. He hadn't really needed her then. She had only come when…
"I was lonely," he blurted without thinking, and then blushed, wishing he could take back the words. He felt sure that she would sniff at him for making her come for something so petty, even if it was Edmund who'd technically been the one to go and fetch her. But all she said was,
"I thought as much. Right then." She offered her hand to him, and when he took it sheepishly, Edmund fluttered to his shoulder, and the two—or rather, the four of them—took a stroll about the park.
--
"What should the note say, do you suppose?" Mary said, brandishing a piece of paper and a fully loaded fountain pen seemingly out of nowhere.
She and Bert discussed it, smiling meaningfully at each other, and when it was finished Mary snapped her fingers swiftly three times—one to send the bird on its way, another to deliver a proper cage for Jane's bedside table, and a third to post the note. When that was finished, Mary turned to Bert.
"You do know that you've got some explaining to do now," Mary said in a low voice.
"I s'ppose—I'll need some help with the details, though," Bert said. He put two fingers to his lips and let out a high whistle.
The bird wasted no time in landing on a nearby tree branch, and twittered dutifully, looking wuite ready to recount a long and epic tale.
Bert's shoulders drooped a little and his eyelids moved a millimeter—something that only someone who knew him very well would notice. It so happened that Mary knew him better than anybody, so she looked at him worriedly. Bert did his best to straighten his shoulders and look lively. "Nothing to worry about, of course. I just wonder why he won't land on my shoulder anymore—but no matter, 'course, he's probably just a tad bit timid, still, eh? We haven't been together for so long, and all…" he laughed unconvincingly, and cleared his throat to quickly change that subject. "But ah—right then. The story."
--
Those strolls around the park became a regular occurrence once the boy learned the trick to it: when he needed the girl for something—anything at all, really, no matter how small—there she would be with her yellow twittering friend, who he learned to call Lila and who soon took on an almost motherly role towards Edmund, often telling him where to peck at the ground to find the fattest worms and when it was best manners to stop fussing and chirping.
A person's childhood is the beginning of their story, and everyone knows that without the beginning, any story would be a very confusing mess. This is why, even if a person lives to be two hundred, everyone's childhood makes up exactly half of their soul. This is not to say that children have only half a soul. Indeed, the other half is with everyone from birth, but watches from a distance during the early years so as to not overshadow the childhood half. This is simple good manners.
There was one family in London, however, whose elder soul halves were nearly always right beside them. They all thought this made them seem wise and classy, but it had quite the opposite effect. Anyone who wasn't completely naïve knew that it was bad manners to shun one's childhood and be in too much of a hurry to grow up. This is why, no matter how classy they themselves thought they were, every member of the family(even the daughters) worked as butchers.
The youngest son, Elliot, was out in the park one day, and sure enough, a large, grand owl flew along beside him, drawing far too much attention to the pair.
It was this afternoon that Elliot first saw the girl.
"Do you see her?" he asked the owl, stopping so suddenly that the bird he was addressing flew ahead and had to double back to answer him.
"Who, the girl just over there? Common type. Still inseperable from her Lesser Half, you see." The other half of Elliot's soul, a tiny chickadee, gave an offended chirp from a tree several meters away. Elliot's Bird of Childhood always watched over him from afar, which was, of course, backwards.
Elliot ignored the chickadee, whose name he could not even recall at the moment. "Seems a bit mature for a lesser half, don't she?"
The owl ruffled his feathers and flew closer to get a look at Lila, who was politely explaining about breadcrumb-eating ettiquette to Edmund. When he'd had a good look, he flew back to Elliot. "You may be right," he said, "but still the common type. Her Better Half is staying hidden, you see. Not nearly as class as us, of course, you see."
Elliot's brow furrowed. "Maybe I ought to tell her about the classy way of doing things, d'you think?"
"Why should you care so much as to do that?"
Elliot shrugged. "She's handsome, ain't she? I think maybe I ought to make her my wife one day."
The owl looked pleased, but the chickadee was taken aback. He knew full well that Elliot was still a child, and much to young to be talking about making anyone his wife. He was so upset that he decided to deliberately make trouble.
"That'll be quite a task, don't ya think?" the little bird said hastily, flying closer than he had in a very long time.
"What do you mean?" asked Elliot.
"Looks as though that boy's bird has already got it mapped out, don't ya think?" He flitted about very fast and put on quite show, trying his best to overshadow the grand-looking owl, who now bore a displeased expression. "Surely they're already planning to become husband and wife, those two, don't ya think?" The chickadee gasped for breath. Of course he knew this wasn't true. No one but the butcher's family thought so very much about marriage as children. He found himself spinning lies because he felt so very jealous—of the owl, for taking up all of Elliot's attention and time, and of the yellow bird for always getting to be so close to his boy. As the chickadee spun his lies, he spun a plan, too.
"Do you really think so?" Elliot asked, disappointed.
"You know," the owl began, but he was cut off.
"Oh yes, yes, I'm sure of it! But it's all that bird's idea, don't ya think? If he's gone, it'll never happen, don't ya think?"
Elliot began to nod enthusiastically. He might have been able to tell the chickadee was lying, except he hardly knew him at all.
"Ain't there probably some way to get rid of the bird?" Elliot addressed the owl, but it was the chickadee who answered again.
"Oh, yes. I just have to make him go far away for a very long time, don't ya think?" He was so excited now that he didn't even wait for Elliot's say-so; he flew right over to Edmund and began twittering loudly.
"Fine day for a race, don't ya think?"
Marry looked up hesitantly from the breadcrumbs. "E'nt it a l'il cold for that?"
"Oh, it doesn't have to be!"
Lila looked curiously at the chickadee, but flew to perch on her girl's hand for the time being. She knew her manners; it is very impolite to eavesdrop on a conversation that you are not a part of.
"Where're ya racin' to?" asked Edmund.
"Arabia, don't ya think? Or South America? So many fine places; better make it all the way around the world, don't ya think?"
"A race 'round the world?" Edmund perked up. "That sounds mighty excitin'. Are ya goin' by yerself?"
"Surely not," the chickadee said. "I can't race myself, don't ya think?"
"'Course not; can't argue with that," Edmund agreed.
The girl and the boy and little Lila were so distracted that they heard none of this, and didn't see the two line up behind a crack in the sidewalk and fly off as fast as their little wings would take them.
--
After that, the boy did not see the girl for a very long time. Even when he felt he needed her very much, there was no one to go fetch her.
When she did happen across him by pure coincidence one Thursday afternoon, the boy was no longer a boy but a man rubbing chalk against the sidewalk with a hat pulled down low so that his face was in shadow. And the girl was now a fine lady whose telltale chestnut curls were mostly covered by her own hat, so neither recognized the other.
Lila had her suspicions, but did not say anything for fear she might be wrong. Edmund was nowhere to be found, so she couldn't be sure. Needless to say, the other half of the girl's(or, really, the lady's) soul had never been close enough to get to know him, so even though she was very close now, there was no way she could tell who the man was.
All the same, sometimes Fate steps in to keep two people from passing one another by.
The lady stopped to look at the man's sidewalk drawings, admiring one landscape of a flowery meadow in particular. The man drew off his hat and put it on the sidewalk, and the two got to talking. When the lady was finished looking, she dropped a few coins into the man's hat.
She stopped to ponder how much business the man got for his fine sidewalk drawings, which gave him just enough time to count out the coins he had collected.
"Well will you look at that," he said. "It looks like I've got just enough money now for tea for two."
--
When Bert was finished recounting the tale(with Edmund's help, of course), he took in a deep breath and shuffled his feet.
"Oh, Bert," Mary said, and suddenly she was so overcome with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia and relief and joy that she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his back. "I never did trust the butcher's family, you know. You can't be too sure about the time who pays no mind to common manners."
Bert was shocked at the sudden display of emotion, but awkwardly hugged Mary in return, patting her back softly. "He got so tired that he 'ad to rest in the Amazon, you see," he said. "Afterwards he was quite lost, I s'ppose."
"Oh, but now he's back and… and it all makes sense and… Oh, Bert, I really am so happy. I feel as if I've just gotten back a long lost friend."
"I was always here," Bert said. "I just wasn't quite whole."
Even Edmund, who had been a bit standoffish ever since his return, could no longer contain himself in the joy of the moment. He landed hesitantly on Bert's shoulder, and found it to be unexpectedly comfortable.
When Mary at last drew back, she noticed how low the sun had fallen in the sky. "Oh no. The children. I should be getting back."
"No worries," said Bert. "Tomorrow's Thursday."
Mary grinned. "A Third Thurday, isn't it?" She noticed that her hands were still resting on Bert's shoulders, and for several seconds she was indecisive, but then she made up her mind and leaned forward to kiss her friend lightly on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
And she left gracefully and swiftly to be in time to tuck in the children.
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Author's Notes: There are so many things I don't like about the way I wrote this chapter. Is that a bad way to start? Haha... ah well. I feel like my writing style changed completely for this chapter. Also, there are some things I wasn't able to mention/make very clear. First, Mary and Bert in the "present time" are in full contact with their Birds of Adulthood on a regular basis. I haven't been able to write about wither of them. I hope I get a chance to before the end of this story. Second, I'm not sure if I made it clear that Mary and Bert meet for tea every third Thursday. But yeah, they have every single third Thursday since they met again when they were older. Third, I think it's VERY important to mention that Mary and Bert gradually grew to realize that they were the two who had met as children. So at the point of the previous chapter, they're both fully aware of it, but have never really discussed it. I tried writing that in but wasn't able to convey it properly at all, so I finally just decided to write it here. Oh my. So many disasters while writing this chapter... including me confusing the names of Bert's Bird of Childhood and Bird of Adulthood. I was writing the wrong name for three pages before I realized it. On a happier note, I finally wrote a chapter of decent length! So that's good... right? Hopefully the next chapter will be a big success. Please take a moment to review, if you will. See you next time!