A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
my beautiful Annabel Lee;
The funeral was only two hours. It seemed like an eternity.
When news got out that Daniel Barlow was dead, the heart of the town stopped beating for a while, the people paused, and everyone looked at Katherine just a little bit funny. He was dead, and they were taking his orphan daughter away. To Trout, it seemed unfair. His father's best friend was dead, and his best friend was dead, too. That wasn't entirely true; she still lived, but she hardly spoke and her eyes were empty, that joyful sparkle faded to black.
Trout stood by her side, as he always had, the day that her Auntie Nora and Uncle Will would pick her up and take her to the Barlow Estate. She told him that when she was little, her father took her to their house for a couple of the holidays. They had about six or seven welsh corgis with English names that they would treat better than her, and Nora called her "Child" instead of by her proper name. Will never talked, only stared with blank eyes, always seemingly annoyed. Trout cringed at the thought of living here; he stared at his friend with wide eyes, his hands set in his pockets.
John Walker came up beside them, bending down beside Katherine, brushing back her hair. "Be good for your family. Your daddy would want it." He patted her back and sighed, shifting to unbend his knee. She buried herself in his arms at the sound of hoof beats on the solid ground. Several townspeople had stopped on the side of the road to watch Katherine Barlow leave, melancholy looks shading their faces. A carriage drawn by six white horses came into view, and Trout stood straight.
The carriage came to a pause, and one man and one woman came out from either side. The woman, Nora, had graying hair pinned atop her head, almost frigid blue eyes and a pale emerald green dress on her straight body. She watched both Kate and Trout. "There are two?" she asked John, who was, perhaps, the authority. Trout didn't like the sound of her voice.
"No," he said, smiling falsely. "This is my son, Charles, and he's just her friend, saying goodbye."
"How old are you, Charles?" she asked Trout.
"Fourteen." That gold tooth in the corner of his mouth glinted in the sunlight.
"Older…" she says, pausing to think. She turns her attention to Katherine. "Are you packed, child?" she asked. She did call her "Child". It sounded so cold, too.
"Yes," she said weakly, holding up a leather suitcase.
"Well, come on, then."
Katherine looks back at Trout, who smiles shortly and then looks away.
She shyly gets in between Nora and Will, (who hasn't spoken) and looks at Greenlake one last time. Trout looks up at her. He waves.
He watches as those white horses pull away, and the dusty road and big Texas sky swallow her up.
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Katherine drops her bags, stepping off the veranda, looking around the large, cream-colored room. Two rust and white corgis run in and push up her dress up with their moist black noses, licking her legs above her little brown boots, the ones her daddy gave her. She can't help but smile, petting the wriggly dogs' coarse fur.
Auntie Nora walks in; the sharp click of her boot heels against the white marble floor almost scares the girl, and brings the dogs to attention.
"Rolfe! Jacob!" she nearly shrieks. (What funny names for dogs, Katherine thinks.) The corgis shake their stubby little tails, watching Nora attentively. A freckled man with a bright red face, hair and mustache, peeks in from another room, and then scurries out.
"Oh! You must be Katherine Barlow. Nice you meet you, Katherine." He has a thick Russian accent, and has a toothy smile. He shakes her hand, and she sees how small her hand really is compared to his. Nora, for once, smiles, holding her hands behind her back and watching the man.
"This is Sergei," she says. Sergei is simply ecstatic. Katherine finally feels welcome; almost. The last time she was here she slipped on the marble and hurt her knee, and her father was there… Now she felt sick to her stomach. Her father.
She wishes Trout were here, too.
Her room is pale yellow, black and white furniture placed everywhere. She fills the closet with dresses and boots, and decorates the walls and shelves with pictures and books. She has a beautiful view of the farm; the horses and green grass. Gardens and lush bushes, the open sky and the clouds, like thick marshmallows hanging in the blue. She pulls an oak desk chair up to the window and takes a seat in it, and she sits in it for the next hour or so. It's not the view that keeps her there; it's the blizzard of thoughts in her head.
Will comes up to her room and silently announces that it's dinnertime, and Katherine gets up from her seat and steps carefully down the stairs. She smells coconut. She also smells chicken…
Sergei has prepared a wonderful dinner, and Arielle, the maid, serves it on china plates. Katherine is almost shocked by the kind nature of the house hands, and the cold personality of the estate owners. Money can do terrible things to people. These people, perhaps, may have far more money than the Walkers. The fact stunned her.
Dinner is eaten in silence at the table at which Nora and Will and Katherine sit, but the table in the kitchen where Sergei and Arielle and James, (the farm help) sit is buzzing with conversation. Katherine watches them, and she longs to take her plates and silverware and join them.
She couldn't.
An oil lantern guides her around the house at night, and she walks around the room, fixing things and getting settled in, and, finally, the moon and stars lull her to sleep. The white curtains rise and fall, shift and dance in the breeze coming from the open window. Katherine had said a prayer at her bedside, and, before she tucked herself in, she said:
"Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Greenlake."