Mid 2003

Ding.

Twelve-year-old Helena holds just past her elbow with her fisted hand, enjoying the tense pull of her muscle a few seconds longer than the timer dictates.

Ding.

She relents and reaches for the timer, pressing the 'Next' button. She never let it ding more than twice. She had made this mistake only once when she was six. Helena liked to think she was the type of person who learned from her mistakes. She knew if the timer sounded thrice, there were consequences.

00h:28m:00s

The seconds begin to count down. Helena folds her exercise mat and returns it to its place. Everything has a place, even she has a place. She crosses the blue carpet to her wardrobe closet and applies two fingers to the pressure-sensitive door. It opens smoothly and reveals her outfit of the day. Her eyebrows raise, and the corner of her mouth curves. She does her best to press her lips tightly together. This dress meant an outing. She would be leaving the estate today.

"Health and Hygiene, Helena." A female voice sounds over the speaker in her ceiling. Helena's eyes squint in annoyance at this disembodied voice. She knew the order of things and didn't need reminding. Helena always peeked at her chosen outfit before cleansing. Her Nanny, Mr. Heilman, knew this and allowed it. She thinks of sounding back, that she wouldn't be senseless enough to dress without cleansing first, but decides against it. She didn't want 'The Bad Soap'. She proceeds to her en suite washroom. As she washes, she sings a Kier Hymn to help fight her excitement about her outing. Where are we going? How far? How long will I be gone? How many people might I see? Too much Cheer can lead to Frolic.

Lumon soap, Lumon 3-in-1 shampoo combo, Lumon floss and paste, and Lumon Original recipe skin salve to moisturize her face. She was told other kids her age had acne, and she could thank Kier for her clear skin. She does thank Kier as she applies the salve in her mirror. She finishes grooming with time to spare, clocking in at 00h:03m:46s. She taps 'Next' on her timer.

00h:09m:00s

Helena thought it a pity that the saved time didn't roll over to the 'Next' activity. Although she never mentioned this to anyone, because she couldn't think of what she would do with the extra time. Kier hates idle hands. She inhales deeply and breathes out slowly, reaching for the clothing hanging in the wardrobe, doing her best to enjoy each item of her wardrobe equally.

She again fights a smile from the corners of her lips as she slips on her pale yellow dress. She easily finds the zip without assistance, next panty hoes, then white mary-jane style shoes polished to perfection, purer than she knew she could ever be. For every mistake she has made, the stain lives on only in her. Lastly, a white headband that she places right behind her red fringe. She taps 'Next', clocking an extra four minutes. Helena takes her place, standing still, with her shoulders back, facing the door, and her hands at her side. As she waits, she fidgets with her dress, smoothing any wrinkles she may have caused in her haste.

Ding.

Helena remains still but flicks her eyes to the clock to see that she has waited for seven minutes. Her chamber door opens, and a middle-aged woman in a blue dress stands in the opening.

"Who are you?" Helena asks, her eyebrows raised in concern.

"I am Miss Shoemaker." The woman announces taking a step into Helena's room. Instinctively, Helena wants to step back, but she remains in her place.

"Shoemaker?" Helena smirks.

"Yes, a long, long time ago, when Kier was in the Ether factory, my family was making shoes, " the woman explains. Helena smiles; it was refreshing to have such an easily won explanation. She nods a silent 'thank you' to Kier for being named Eagan instead of Salve-maker.

"And who are you, Miss Shoemaker?" She asserts, watching the woman who inspects Helena's bed making. She would find no error there.

Without looking at her, the woman answers, "I'm your new Nanny."

"What?" Helena spins around to face Miss Shoemaker.

"I think you heard me clearly." Miss Shoemaker says as she finishes the examination of the room.

Helena's mind reels. She's only ever known one Nanny, Mr. Heilman. Before she was school-age and the tutors came, he was the one who taught her how to spell her name and hold a pencil.

"Where is Mr. Heilman?" Helena's voice cracks as she asks. Miss Shoemaker stands firmly beside her, looking down at the thin, pale-skinned girl.

"Do I hear Woe?" Miss Shoemaker warns. Helena searches the woman's eyes. They are distant as if she were looking through Helena entirely. Helena turns her body and plants her feet back in her place, mainly to conceal her discomfort from this woman she doesn't know. She drops her head, breathing in, then out, but a single tear betrays her, escaping her eye and sliding down her cheek.

"Is Mr. Heilman okay?" Helena tries to steady her voice and tame her tempers. She didn't want them tamed for her.

"He resigned." Miss Shoemaker says flatly, moving to stand in front of the child.

"Did, did he, was it something I did?" Helena stammers, her eyes darting back and forth, scanning her memory for a grievance she could have committed to cause him to quit. An eternity of silence follows the question until Helena lifts her head, locking her tear-filled eyes on her new Nanny's blank expression.

"Maybe." Miss Shoemaker says coldly. "Follow me." Miss Shoemaker turns her back to the girl, pauses for a beat, then begins walking. Helena, without question, follows her escort out of the bedchambers and down a long white hall. Next was breakfast.

Behind Miss Shoemaker's back, Helena secretly wipes her tears and chastises herself for giving into Woe. She tells herself that she shouldn't miss Mr. Heilman . He may have been the one to brush her hair before she was old enough to do so herself, but he was also the one who reported her waywardness to her father and personally delivered any approved disciplinary measures. After a tough week, sometimes she wasn't sure if Mr. Heilman even liked her, but he was the one who bandaged her up and snuck her non-Lumon chocolates on her birthdays. You don't sneak potential-career-ending chocolate for someone you don't like. What could she have done so wrong that he resigned? She hadn't incurred any infractions thus far this week. Last Tuesday, there was a brief scare when her tutoring was stopped and she was rushed to the Lumon nurse's office. It was explained to her that she had reached something called 'menarche' and was given a box of Lumon feminine hygiene products. The nurse said it was natural and there was nothing to be done. Sure, it was scary at first, but could Mr. Heilman have given into Dread and been unable to resume his duty of care? If that's the case, and Helena decides that it is, then he was weak and unworthy of the responsibility of her full-time care. When she comes to this conclusion, she and Miss Shoemaker reach the dining room.

Helena takes her seat at the long glass table and waits to be served her breakfast, the only breakfast: eggs. As she waits, she hears footsteps on the stairs, dress shoes, the slow, measured steps alert her that it must be her father. Helena stands to receive him, shoulders back, hands at her sides. He meets her eyes, and she offers a smile, but it isn't returned. He walks to the furthest end of the table, keeping his focus on her. Once he's stationary, she offers a slight bow as a greeting.

"Father." She acknowledges.

"A momentous day, " he says, a smile lighting his eyes. It's a flicker, but it's there, and Helena is sure she saw it.

"Is it?" She asks, wondering if this has anything to do with Miss Shoemaker.

"Sit, child." He moves his gaze from her to one of the two chairs at the table.

"Yes." She agrees and returns to her seat. As she does, Miss Shoemaker reappears with a tray, a boiled egg for Helena, and a crystal glass with three raw eggs for Jame. Helena nods, accepting that Miss Shoemaker already knows more about Helena's day than she knows herself. Helena never knew when to expect her father. He is a busy man, and his work is mysterious and important. She remembers once when she was eight, Mr. Heilman made the mistake of telling her in advance that her father would be joining her for a meal that day. He didn't specify which, and the uncertainty left her with an upset stomach for most of her morning tutoring. Her temper, Dread, had to be tamed to return her focus on her studies. When her father was informed of her temper imbalance, he chose not to show. That day, as she ate dinner alone, observed by Mr. Heilman , he told her that most kids sat down for a meal with their parents at least once a day. She laughed and told him his Malice was showing and that maybe he needed his tempers tamed. He laughed. Would Miss Shoemaker laugh?

Helena glances up occasionally as she cuts and prepares her egg for consumption. Her father stands, looming, and swirls the eggs in his glass, never removing his scrutinizing eye from her.

"Today, Helena, you will begin your Wintertide fellowship," Jame announces before a pause. He unnaturally smiles and gulps down the slimy eggs, finishing every drop before licking his lips satisfactorily. Helena squints in confusion and disgust but decidedly focuses on her less problematic egg. She eats a small piece, chewing for much longer than necessary as she silently prays for Wit to discern context clues, to understand her father. Ultimately, Wit helps her remain silent. Jame continues, "Your tutors have deemed you Wintertide material. The reports say that you have shown remarkable improvements with your test scores and most importantly, you have finally embodied all nine core principles." Helena nods, biting the inside of her lip. That word 'Finally' cuts her. She reminds herself of Kier's words, "We must be cut to heal." After this announcement, he sits in the only other chair at the far end of the table and pours himself coffee.

A tense quiet settles around them. She eats her egg. He sips his coffee. The clock on the wall ticks. Miss Shoemaker can be heard humming a Kier hymn. Jame grunts a small sound of disapproval, and Helena observes him. It's unclear if his displeasure is with the coffee or with her. She places down her utensils, offering her full attention.

"Father?" She studies his stoic face.

"What do you say to that, child?" He asks sternly.

Helena does everything in her power to keep her body still and not give him a juvenile shrug of the shoulders. She stares wide-eyed at her egg as if it might whisper something to her about what Wintertide means. The clock ticks. She has no practiced response since this is the first time she has heard of this Fellowship. However, she must quickly settle on a reply. "Praise Kier for making me worthy of such a fellowship." She shakes her head slightly, the words tasted wrong as they came out, and she's sure they couldn't have sounded sincere, but when she peeks at her father, he is placated.

"Admission to The Myrtle Eagan School for Girls is an honored and coveted position for young women all over the world who choose to serve Kier. I expect only outstanding reports." With this, he stands and places down his half-empty coffee mug. "May Kier guide your actions." Jame takes a few swift, unexpected steps towards his daughter, and Helena's entire body tenses. He stops directly behind where she is seated and leans over her. He whispers, "Do not sully the Eagan name."

Frozen in his shadow, she manages a meek, "Yes, Father." With that, his business here is done. He disappears down the stairs from which he emerged. Without realizing it, Helena holds her breath until his steps are out of earshot. She huffs, exasperated, blowing away the tension and the hundreds of unasked questions. She wanted to ask about Mr. Heilman, about Miss Shoemaker, or anything about what Wintertide expects of her. Helena knows that Jame Eagan is too important to stick around and tediously explain himself.

[To be continued Friday.]