WILDFIRE. cedric diggory

I

THE YEAR OF 1978.

The village St. Angelica of Windslee was small and enriched with salted air from a nearby port at the west, foggy woods at the east, located at the farthest side of Cornwall. In the heart of the village were shops, houses, establishments—both private and government-owned—and a tiny park with lights that glimmered at night. It was a small and humble town indeed—but everyone knows that in a place where events are scarce, gossip is abundant and talk spreads like wildfire. The newest headline of today's gossip was the mysterious death of Anya Phelphs. And apparently, according to Mrs. Churchill, three days before Anya Phelphs died, she gave birth to a child—a girl—secretly.

The village folks seemed to pick the topic as quickly as a strike of a match, and had been woven by so many different mouths that nobody really ever knows the truth of it. There were already so many versions of the story in such short period of time, but even the people could not (and would not) speak of it near the ears of the married Phelphs themselves who lived a small, but lovely home in Frothings Street.

The gossip started with the Parlingtons who lived three blocks from the Phelphs. Mrs Parlington, a woman in the stout side and who often wore pieces of jewelry even at home, told a few of her friends who worked with her at the Town Hall.

"Do you all remember when Anya ran away from home?" said Mrs. Parlington as she continued to staple the papers. "That was last year, wasn't it?"

Two other women who were also stapling papers nodded their heads vigorously, hungry for gossip. One woman with hair so disheveled, it almost looked like a bird's nest. The other woman had blue eyes and she was so thin that she might break a bone if the wind blows on her too aggressively.

"Mary refused to tell me the reason why. Brandon worked with Johnny and he told me he seemed very preoccupied. That's why he got fired too. Couldn't even focus on his job." said the thin woman.

"But she's back, Anya, wasn't she?" asked the woman with too much hair. She grabbed for more bullet staples. "I heard from Evelyn that she's back. Sick too, she told me."

The thin woman nodded her head. "Cora told me, too. Something about a flu that's why she barely left the house. I saw Mary yesterday buying all sorts of medicine at Vina's pharmacy."

Mrs Parlington chortled so loud she almost attracted unwanted attention. She all gave them a knowing look. Her eyes amused and her lips pinched up. "Dear me, dear me. Anya is not sick. She's pregnant."

Gasps erupted.

"Reyna! That's not something you should say out loud unless you aren't certain it is true," the thin woman held a hand on her chest. "Goodness me, if Mary hears you, she'd wreck your face."

The other woman bobbed her head in agreement and her full set of hair moved with it too.

"I saw Mrs. Churchill went there last night. I thought it was odd why a midwife went there in the middle of the night. Mind you, Mary and Mrs. Churchill aren't friends at all," she shook her head. "They hated each other, ever since Johnny replaced Mr. Churchill at Dante's shop. Never mind that, you all know that. Anyway, she went there right? And she was there for hours. As soon as Mrs. Churchill left, I asked her. She told me one thing," Mrs. Parlington nodded her head. "She said, someone gave birth, that's what she said. And we all know Mary's too old to be pregnant."

"Oh!" came the gasps once again.

A day after that and Anya Phelphs giving birth secretly spread like a plague. It loomed over the village and the people disguised their excitements into ignorance and innocence. Three days later, Anya Phelphs was then reported dead, and the arrival of a casket at the Phelphs household was the confirmation that everyone needed. And just like that Anya Phelphs was the most talked about person in all of St. Angelica of Windslee as it spread further from west of port to the looming fogs of the east.

"She was secretly married to a man too," said Dot, the bartender and the owner of the Grand Pub. "At a church somewhere in the southeast."

"There ain't no churches and chapels at the woods!" cried a drunk person. "Just bloody fogs, is all!"

"Southeast of the world Dan, Asia! Not in St. Angelica's!" corrected another person who was sitting next to Dan. He was tall and lanky, with a hair so ginger it burned. "I heard somewhere in Thailand. No. Vietnam. No, no, no, where was it again? Philippines? Yes. Philippines."

"Philippines?" repeated Dan who was already drunk in booze. "Blimey, that far?"

Dot nodded as she wiped the counter with a clean cloth. "The child will carry the father's name, too. Not the name Phelphs. Tracy—Mrs. Parlington—said that Mary was furious and Johnny was horrified that it made him sick. Too sick to even get up from bed.

"Johnny is a dear and kind man," one said. "Bless his soul."

"Where's the father then? Ain't he gonna take care of the little sap?" belowed one stranger who joined the conversation. But it seemed as though someone knew him. There were no such thing as strangers at St. Angelica of Windslee.

Dot pursed her lips. He poured more beer at Dan's glass. "Dead. That's why Anya came back because her husband was dead. Mary was said to have found letters."