"So…, you're Jonathan's friend…?" Elizabeth blinked her eyes, walking with the tall man with fur coat and unruly black hair named Jeremy.
"Oh yes, ma'am, though, I couldn't hang out with him often, considering my, er,…freelancing jobs, which requires me to travel from place to place." Jeremy chuckled nervously.
'Oh, that explains why I haven't heard of him…' she mused in her thoughts.
"But, eventually, I'd find a secure place to settle…maybe finding my own family…," he blushed a bit at the thought of having a spouse, "say, I know you and Jonathan have been courting before marriage. Could you give me some points on how to court a lady!"
She paused when Jeremy stopped in his tracks and looked front. Following his gaze, what she witnessed made her heart drop.
Soldiers.
Marching.
The automobiles and motorcycles filling the roads. Couple of tanks were following behind them.
Families and townsfolk were watching as they stopped their daily business. Some greeted their sons, brothers, and fathers from their military duties. The officers were marching from the sidelines, holding flags of victory. Despite grandiose news, the faces, the emotions of soldiers were stiff and cold. On guard.
"Stay away, ma'am…," Jeremy stood in front of her protectively, "not all soldiers are gentlemen…."
Already, a couple of villagers gathered at the town square. One of the officers announced their nation's victory, ensuring complete peace after years of war. Elizabeth's eyes saddened. She remembered the last time her husband volunteered for the war and he returned dead. She was told he was found in the arms of Virgin Mary's statue after being killed. However, no one knew who fatally wounded him.
"For the heroes who haven't returned, they will be remembered for their dedication to our home, our families, our lives! Their lives were taken away in the hands of the enemy nation's notorious tormentors; the NIMH!"
The name that made Jeremy winced. NIMH. The National Institute of Mystic Health. The enemy country under the regime of dictatorial government founded the damned institute to satisfy their scientific, supernatural curiosities. And to fulfill their victories by using war prisoners and victims.
"But we have avenged them! And now they will rest in peace!" The officer continued, following with the salute of soldiers.
Without a word, Jeremy led her away from the town square.
"So, where do you live? Let me walk you home…" He smiled at Elizabeth, in hope to cheer her up.
The Brisby widow smiled back, appreciating his effort in keeping her away from the uncomfortable scene.
"Well, the Brisby house… not too far from the Fitzgibbons…," she looked at him, "do you have a place to stay in this town?"
"Oh, umm… I'll come up with that soon. With the war ended, I'd find a new job around here." he shrugged in a carefree manner.
Elizabeth blinked. As Jeremy described himself as a man with a "freelancing" job that requires him to change locations, he'd need a place to stay for several nights. And in this town, there aren't many inns, boarding houses, or empty cabins to use for visitors. A light sparkled in her head with another idea.
"Jeremy," she began, "if you don't mind with my children around…, perhaps you can stay in a guest room…?"
He perked, eyes widened at her offer.
"Oh! I mean, uh, if that's okay? I don't wanna disturb you, since…I could get clumsy with… stuffs."
"I'm sure it's fine," she giggled a little, "consider as…my gratitude from helping me with Mr. Welker. And, my children, they may be a bit handful, but they'd love to have you around."
Jeremy warmly laughed before puffed up his chest with confidence.
"Oh, right, yeah…! Kids likes me~! And I do play with kids a lot before…"
Mrs. Brisby smiled a bit more as they continued their journey to her house. The appearance of stone cold soldiers long forgotten from her memories.
Unbeknownst to her, a young officer of the soldiers witnessed the two leaving the town square.
Meanwhile an hour passed the sunset, in the house of the Brisby family. A bit too small to be called a mansion, but still a manor. One of the possessions late Jonathan left on his family. Inside, his and Elizabeth's children were waiting for their mother's return.
"Maybe I should go get mom…" The oldest son, Martin, suggested as he sat on a chair.
Martin Brisby. Age 9. His silvery ash hair cut short, he was wearing a blue shirt with a pair of black pants. An old gray shoe covering his small feet. Pouting as he his frowning gaze on a clock.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Martin." The oldest daughter, Teresa, shook her head dismissively as she brought out the frying pan.
Teresa Brisby. Age 11. She was a splitting image of her own father; long chestnut brown hair, pair of blue eyes with fair complexion. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail with a pink hair tie. Pinkish white blouse, darker shade of pink vest and skirt, and she wore a pair of brown slippers.
"Eliza! Elizabeth Brisby!"
The children jumped at the voice of a middle aged woman.
"Oh~! That's great auntie Sue~!" Teresa smiled.
"Auntie Shrew~!" Cynthia, the youngest daughter, giggled.
Cynthia Brisby. Age 4. She had long silvery hair tied stylishly with a pair of buns and pigtails. Her petite figure adorned by a light green dress as she was hugging her favorite mouse plush doll.
"Oh, no…" Martin groaned, rubbing his temple in distress.
Martin was no fan of their great aunt. Sue Bates, as they fondly refer to her as Auntie Shrew, was known for her no-nonsense, strict demeanors around children. Though, she meant well as she wanted what is best for them. In addition to that, she is also the only parental figure of their mother's family.
"She'll disturb Timothy…," Teresa glanced at the room their other brother was in as they heard a dismayed whine inside, so she decided to approach the stairs, "mother's not here, auntie."
From upstairs, the woman of dark brown hair and olive skin descended, taking off her apron as she finished cleaning the study chamber of late Jonathan and bedrooms of the remaining family. Teresa retrieved the apron and walked to hang it on a hook.
"Thank you, dearie," Auntie Shrew brushed the dust off from her outfit, "I must speak with your mother."
Martin rolled his eyes.
"Why me? That I, alone, should be responsible for the welfare of an entire territory FILLED with savage crooks after my niece… Eliza?" She continued to look for their mother.
"Mother isn't here…" Teresa walked back to the kitchen, bringing out eggs, leftover breads, and several bacon from the refrigerator.
"Auntie," Cynthia tugged onto Sue's dress skirt, "Timmy sick."
Oh, Cynthia, dearest," Auntie Shrew carried her youngest great niece, "your mother isn't here…?"
"Well, me and Teresa's old enough to take care of this house." Martin huffed, then went to the bedroom his little brother was in.
"War may have ended, but with mystic crooks around—like blood-sucking, disease-spreading devils—up to heaven knows what kind of mischief…! Cynthia, don't fidget…" Their great aunt gently patted Cynthia's head.
"Mother went to see Mr. Ages, auntie." Teresa informed.
"Ages? That bitter old flimflam," Auntie Shrew snorted, "whatever for?"
"Timmy sick!" Cynthia skipped in front of her.
"Our little brother Timothy's really ill…" Teresa added along as Martin got his little brother out of hiding and tucked him back in a bed.
"Oh, how dreadful…" Sue Bates sighed, hand on her face.
It has been a year since the death of Jonathan Brisby, the father of four children and husband of her niece. Part of Auntie Shrew wished to strangle that man for leaving her previous niece behind with four mouths to feed, yet part of her wished Elizabeth could find a suitable man to remarry. Otherwise, indecent men like that young Fitzgibbons and Drago Welker would get into desperate measures to crawl inside her skirt.
"I'm no coward to those devils," Martin stomped out of the bedroom, "I'm not afraid of those Fitzgibbons! I will kick that darn Drago Welker's butt!"
At that timing, Elizabeth had just returned with Jeremy, witnessing her children with Auntie Shrew as the tall unruly haired man blinked.
"Oh, hush!"
"YOU hush, ol' lady!" Martin glared at Auntie Shrew.
"Martin…!" Teresa attempted to stop her brother.
Cynthia glanced at her big brother and their great aunt back and forth, not understanding the intense situation. Elizabeth facepalmed as Jeremy held back his chuckle, finding Martin's sharp tongue bold yet amusing.
"Precocious beastie!" Their great aunt hissed.
"Bossy bullfrog!" Martin continued, his fists on both sides of his hips.
"Spoiled brat." She glared.
"Loudmouth!" He stuck his tongue out.
Auntie Shrew huffed indignantly as she fetched her light green shawl. Teresa gave Martin a scolding look on her face, but he remained unfazed.
"Eliza! There you are…," Sue Bates then glared at Jeremy, "And who is that…"
Her intense glare caused poor Jeremy to flinch, but Elizabeth came in between them.
"Auntie, this is Jeremy Crows. My husband's friend… he came to visit." She introduced him.
Elizabeth's maternal aunt scanned the man up and down, in her meticulous attempt of finding anything suspicious. He quickly took off his furred coat and folded it nicely as he stood straight, nervous.
"Hmph…, at least this man shows some proper manners. Quite ironic, none of the men visiting here shows no respect…," Auntie Shrew tsked before turning to Elizabeth, "Eliza, dearie. I have to tell you, the Fitzgibbons are growing impatient with the rent. It's high time we move out of the town."
"Move out…?" Elizabeth's eyes widened.
"Leave the town?" Teresa blinked.
"Oh THANK GOD!" Martin put his arms up exasperatedly, yet relieved.
Jeremy's eyes widened briefly before looking around the house.
"But when…?" Elizabeth asked.
"As soon as possible! The sooner the rent is paid to them, the sooner we can leave this dreadful place!" Auntie Shrew replied, arms crossed.
"But…, this is the house my husband left to us… we can't leave it behind…" Mrs. Brisby gestured around the place, frowned at the idea of leaving what Jonathan gave to them.
"Young lady," her aunt's tone went stern, "this week will be the last week staying in this town! A worst place for a widow to live with four children! The townsfolk may be generous, but you are still in a vulnerable position! Without a husband, you can't raise a family on your own!"
As much as Auntie Shrew sounded harsh, Elizabeth couldn't retort. There aren't good careers offered to the widows in this town. Other than as seamstress or a worker in Fitzgibbons' farm. The farmer's insensitive wife has bothered her offering to meet their son who wanted nothing more than "physical bonding" with her. The miller of the neighborhood occasionally flirted with her, uncaring of the discomfort he brought to her. Drago Welker and fellow hunters would throw out sexual remarks about her, since she lost her husband. Even some of them made a bet on who gets to lay with her within a year in a barn first. Despite these treatments, Elizabeth did not fight back and remained silent, ignoring them.
"Think of the children…and yourself, Eliza." Auntie Shrew sighed heavily before walking out of manor to get some fresh air.
Without a word, Elizabeth went to the kitchen after apologizing to Jeremy for the commotion. Teresa followed her mother, assisting her in cooking for the supper as Jeremy decided to teach Cynthia how to play with colorful strings. As Teresa served dishes of supper on the dinner table, Elizabeth brought out a medicine she received from Mr. Ages, pouring a small portion in a warm porridge for her second son Timothy. With lukewarm water in a glass, placed them on a wooden tray and walked to the bedroom.
Her second son, Timothy Brisby—age 6—was on a bed. His ombre hair was dark brown to silver, his pair of blue eyes were dim, face was sweaty from high fever. His light green shirt was thankfully dry as Elizabeth reminded herself to give him a bath and a new pair of clothes for tomorrow.
He slowly glanced up to see his mother, unable to speak except letting out a raspy and quiet groan.
"Timothy, my sweet baby…," Elizabeth forced up a gentle smile, "It's your supper."
He blinked once, blinked twice. Then, he slowly sat up a bit. Although he wanted to eat the porridge on his own, his mother insisted on feeding him as his limbs were weakening. Blowing a steam off from a spoonful of porridge, she starts to feed him. As she always has. Without complaining, Timothy was fed well until the bowl was empty. Mrs. Brisby gently patted his head as he smiled, drinking water.
"I'm sorry, my little boy… this is all I can feed you for a while…" her smile was regretful before it became hopeful, "just wait for a couple of weeks…and mommy will cook anything you want."
He released a small hum of joy before hugging his mother. Despite a tear threatening to fall, she embraced him close.
'It's okay, Timothy… Mommy won't sink low. Mommy will do anything to keep you healthy.' her voice was unheard to everyone except herself.
'It's okay, Timothy… Mommy won't sink low. Mommy will do anything to keep you healthy.' her voice was unheard to everyone except herself.