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prairiesongserial · 4 years

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Windfield Pass 8

With the town in sight, Owl was overflowing with energy. She ran ahead through the meadows, so far that Agnes could only see her by the tip of her hat. However, she stopped to pick every flower she saw, so that Agnes was able almost to catch up to her before Owl sprinted off again.

The school had just let out for the afternoon, and as Agnes and Owl drew closer, they could see children pouring out of the schoolhouse and down the paths that would take them to the many farmhouses surrounding town.

“Can I?” Owl asked, bubbling with excitement.

“I don’t see why not,” said Agnes.

Owl disappeared down the lane, trying to catch up to the children who were walking in a clump toward the center of town. Compared to the Windfield children, Owl was dressed provincially, and Agnes wondered if Willa and Ben’s plan had been doomed to fail from the start. Windfield had a tailor. Windfielders had buttons on their clothes. Only colony kids dressed like Owl, wearing long, loose shirts cinched at the waist with a gathered, pull-string skirt that could be let out with every growth spurt.

But as Agnes watched, Owl seemed to fit in just fine. The school kids were a couple years older than her, but they shared the ball they were bouncing down the road, and soon the lot of them were fast friends. Agnes trailed behind. She wasn’t sure where she should take her query about Owl - to a farming family, a prosperous one, that could use the extra hand? But there was less chance of her getting an education on the outskirts. The mayor, perhaps?

Agnes was still turning the question over when the baker spotted her through his window and hurried out to meet her. He was a stout, friendly man about five Agnes’s senior, named Paul.

“Dr. Hopper, you’re back sooner than expected,” he exclaimed. “Run out of jam cookies already?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.” Agnes spared Owl a glance. She was getting farther ahead, but it wasn’t hard to track a person down in a small town like Windfield. She’d turn up at someone or other’s dinner table. “That little one, there, in the hat - what do you think of her?”

“Awfully small to be in school,” Paul said. “Whose is she?”

Agnes had put some thought into what her answer would be. Owl needed a cover story, but one that would be difficult to verify.

“She’s an orphan I picked up in Pickton,” Agnes said easily. “They had a tight harvest this year, and asked if I might ask around here for someone to take her in.”

“Pickton? You’ve only been gone three days, four days? It would take you at least that long to get to Pickton. And I thought you were going...home.”

The way he said home was more than a little disapproving, but Agnes chose not to remark on it. “I had intended to stop in Harehaven, but I could see from the pass that there were too many muties on the move. I cut south, and happened upon a motorist, who graciously offered me a ride to Pickton.”

“Motorist?” Paul said, almost alarmed. Windfield and its neighbors were so far out of the way that a motorist was a rare occurrence, and usually accompanied by gang trouble.

“Just a farmer, by the look of her. She drove us halfway here, as thanks for taking the orphan girl.”

Paul only then remembered Owl.

“The orphan, that’s right, that’s right…”

“Your family doesn’t need any more help, does it?” Agnes said.

“Not from one that young, I’m afraid. Our hands are full enough.” Paul paused in thought. “Why don’t you take her to Marge? She knows the in and out of everything, and that’s her daughter, there, the tall one.”

Agnes squinted down the road. The gaggle of students had thinned as the children passed by their own homes. Now there were only two other girls.

“Thank you,” Agnes said, taking after them. “And I’ll be sure to be back for more cookies.”

“Any time, Dr. Hopper.”

Agnes lagged behind the girls as they made their way through town. Being the town’s only doctor afforded a certain amount of trust, more so than Windfield would afford any other traveller, even a traveling musician or clown who was known by the town. But being the doctor, that had overwritten even her contamination by association with Harehaven. It was a good sign that Paul had believed her about Owl. With any luck, the rest of the town would take her word as well.

The tallest of the schoolgirls - Marge’s daughter - stopped to flirt with a young man loitering outside the tailor’s shop. Agnes recognized him as the tailor’s son, and suspected that he had run out on his chores at just this time of day on purpose.

Agnes caught up to Owl, who gave her a surreptitious thumbs up. One of the remaining girls was a little closer to Owl in age, and was teaching her how to make a web out of a circle of string caught between her hands.

Marge’s daughter, whose name Agnes could not remember for the life of her, was in the middle of receiving a silk flower from the tailor’s son. It looked a bit clumsy - the boy might have made it himself. He was trying to fasten it to her lapel and every time he stuck her, the poor girl winced in silence, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

“Thank you for walking with Owl, here,” Agnes said to the younger girl with the string. “What’s your name?”

“She’s Mer’dith, and she says she has more strings at home, and she’ll give one to me so I can practice Jacob’s ladder,” Owl interjected.

“And that’s Ruthie, only she likes being called just Ruth now,” said Meredith matter of factly. “She’s gonna be ‘gaged, or that’s what Mrs. Marge says.”

Ruth flushed to the tips of her ears, as did the tailor’s son, who promptly stuck her again.

“I see,” said Agnes, turning to Ruth. “Mrs. Marge is your mother, correct? I’m Dr. Hopper. I’ve been instructed to speak with her. Would you mind showing me the way?”

“Yes, M’am,” Ruth said, and shyly took the silk flower away from the tailor’s son before he did any permanent damage. She walked briskly ahead, so that Owl and Agnes both struggled to keep pace. Her house wasn’t far, as Windfield wasn’t a particularly large town. The house was on a slim lane just off the main street, and was built at an unfortunate slant that looked quite unsafe. It leaned toward its neighbor almost comically, as if it were putting an ear up to the walls.

Ruth opened her front door, calling “Mama?” as she led Agnes and Owl inside. Meredith had hung around as well, perhaps because there was not likely to be anything more interesting to do at home. And all the better that she had: Meredith and Owl had become fast friends, and Meredith was taking the brunt of her questions. Owl explored the little parlor with fascination, at once jumping on the sofa and hollering “What is this?” only to be distracted seconds later by the clock on the mantle, then the vase of dried eucalyptus standing next to it.

“Mama, we have visitors,” Ruth called, perhaps unnecessarily.

“Heavens, you should have said you were bringing a guest, I would have had something to eat ready. Oh, shoot, the kettle - ” The sound of agitated bustling could be heard from the kitchen, and Agnes continued past the young ladies to speak with Marge. Agnes stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching silently for a moment as Marge fussed with a book of matches, trying to light the stove. Marge was a plump woman with red cheeks and red knuckles, and though Agnes had never known her name, she recognized her as a familiar face of Windfield. She was usually to be found near the water pump, animatedly offering her opinion on the goings on in town.

“Sorry to intrude,” Agnes said, and Marge gasped and dropped her match. Agnes paused. “And to startle you.”

Agnes supposed she must have a fairly startling appearance, presently. After days in the wilderness, sleeping in caves, and all that after having been soaked in the river, she was well worn with travel. And she was a stringy creature to start with, old and haggard, a form less suited to parlors and more to skulking in back alleys. Or so she had come to think of herself.

“Heavens, who are you? You aren’t that nice boy Reginald.”

“I’m afraid not,” Agnes replied. “I’m here to speak with you regarding some unusual business, but I’ve been told you are the person in the know.”

This was exactly what Marge wanted to hear, it seemed. She brightened at once. Her expression turned only slightly less bright at the sound of Owl launching herself from one piece of furniture onto another.

“Well, you’re quite welcome, do make yourself comfortable,” Marge said. “I’ll be out presently with a bit to eat - you look famished. Who do you have out there with you?”

“Meredith and - well, and the topic of conversation. A young girl.”

Marge looked very interested at that. She puttered between the cupboard and the ice box, and hollered for Ruth to fetch the nice tea cups from the pantry, as the kettle began to sing. Agnes hovered in the parlor, watching Owl and Meredith play on the floor with a pair of dolls Ruth had unearthed for them. Owl touched every seam of the doll reverently, as if she couldn’t quite believe that something so wonderful could be made of cloth and thread. That really brought Agnes back. She could feel herself becoming increasingly invested in finding Owl a placement in Windfield, despite her misgivings, as if giving Owl a proper doll would heal her own bereft childhood.

“Oh, my, you’re a little one,” Marge said as she entered the parlor with a full platter of cheese and pastry. “Eat up, all of you, eat.”

She settled in an overstuffed pink chair while Ruth brought in the tea and poured everyone a cup. Agnes hadn’t realized how sorely she had missed a hot drink, and relished every sip. Owl, meanwhile, forgot the doll at once at the sight of a meal. She crowded the coffee table and began to pile shortbread cookies into her skirt.

Agnes tapped her hand, setting her tea down for a second.

“Take cheese too. And try this, this is cured meat.”

Owl gave her a withering look, but took exactly one piece of cheese, then carried her bounty back over to Meredith and the dolls.

“Now, tell me what this is all about,” said Marge, as Agnes returned to her tea. “Who’s this little girl?”

“I’m Owl. I’m four,” Owl said. Then, promptly, she shoved another cookie in her mouth, freeing up her hands to play.

“Owl, now that’s a strange name,” Marge said. “Where is she from?”

“Pickton. She’s an orphan, and…”

“Right, right, I see,” Marge said, nodding. “And you’d like to know where to place her in Windfield. That’s a tough question...there’s always the farms, if only she were a little older. But a real little one like that...let me think about it.”

Marge closed her eyes, nodding her head slowly. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open.

“She’s not mutated, is she? That’ll be a deal-breaker.”

“No, she’s not,” Agnes said curtly.

“Well, Anna down at the general store has been trying to conceive without any luck, so you might ask her. Apart from her, let me think… Henry might take her. He and Rafael are in a bit of a bind financially, this year, but they’d be good parents.”

“That would be wonderful. Do you mind introducing us?”

“Oh, of course. But finish your tea first - please, eat some pastry.” Marge continued on about the ins and outs of the people in town, only some of whom Agnes knew by name. Hilda had started construction on an aqueduct, but had had to stop for the winter. The town mason had recently taken sabbatical to study her trade out west near the Idaho border - apparently the mill in Teton Town was of more efficient design - but she was back now, as of just last week.

“Oh, and a band of feral cats got into Lizzy Borton’s kitchen and tore down her nice lace curtains,” Marge continued, talking into her tea cup. “She suspects foul play, but then again, she always does.”

Agnes slowly sipped her tea and watched Owl get along with Meredith. She seemed happy, playing on the floor. This might have been her first time in a house with an upstairs, but after a few minutes of exploration, it was as if she had been living in houses all her life. She was young enough, Agnes supposed, that she could still accept new experiences easily. She had not seemed particularly surprised by Selkie or the caves, either.

When tea was finished, Marge got dressed for the cold, and the lot of them - minus Ruth, who had chores to attend to - made for the general store to speak with Anna. Owl hung back with Meredith. That was good. It would make leaving easier. Easier on Owl, at least.

Agnes hadn’t spared much thought to how it would feel to leave Owl behind, or where she would go next. She supposed she should make the trek down to Pickton in time for influenza season, but just thinking of more travel made her joints ache. One day she wasn’t going to be able to make her circuit anymore. Already, these past few years, she had felt the strain of pushing herself too far. With each passing season, she spent more time recovering from travel and less time administering to the townspeople. Agnes had spun the roulette wheel, so to speak, and would one day be stuck wherever it stopped. Would it be a humble colony like Harehaven, barely able to support an old doctor? Or a larger town like Windfield? Would she be resented? It might not be so bad to retire if she could visit with Owl, and if the town remembered her fondly for the work she had done.

“Here’s the general store, now,” Marge announced. “Anna, Anna dear, it’s Marge, I have Dr. Hopper with me to talk about you-know-what.”

Anna, a flush-faced, harried young woman, popped her head out the door and gave Marge a severe look.

“No one can tell you anything in confidence, Marge Whimble,” she snipped. But she held the door open for the lot of them to come inside. The general store wasn’t too busy, though a large man with a mustache was doing inventory along the back wall.

Owl circled the place, peering into barrels and touching the shelves and their contents, from jarred foods to candles to matches. Meredith quickly pulled her away from the breakables, explaining the rules to Owl, as well as the concept of “you break it, you buy it.”

“Just do keep your voice down,” Anna said, tearing her eyes away from the young ones and looking expectantly at Agnes.

“Well,” said Agnes. “I’ve learned from Marge that you may be interested in raising a young child. This is Owl, she’s an orphan from Pickton looking for a placement.”

Agnes stepped aside so that Owl could be seen properly. She was exploring a barrel of dried kidney beans with utter relish, giggling to Meredith.

“Can I have these?” Owl said, jumping in place. “Agnes, can I have these?”

Anna seemed to have been robbed of breath. She knelt by Owl to get a good look at her, and Owl immediately took her hands out of the barrel and tucked them behind her back.

“Hi, Owl. I’m Anna,” she said. “You’re from Pickton?”

“I guess,” said Owl quietly.

“She’s not, she’s from the mutie waste, she told me,” Meredith piped in. “She said she’s friends with them.”

“With...who?” Anna said, standing.

“With muties. And she had to hide in a tree from one of them, but then it didn’t eat her after all, and instead it dragged them through the river to its secret lair, and they came through the caves, and it still didn’t eat them, probably because it smelled the mutie waste on ‘em.”

Agnes stood speechless.

Windfield Pass 7 || Windfield Pass 9

#story

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