The Whipping Tree

I: Copper and Rust

I

Copper and Rust

Four Years Ago

         The weather is poor. Rain comes down in sheets and the branches of trees nearby rap against windows as if wanting to break in.

         Joaneveive crouches on the second-to-last step of the stairs with Maud. They are inseparable. Joan never had siblings, and Maud has only older brothers.

        They share half of the flaky, crisp pie her maid, Vera, baked for them to offer a distraction from the frightening weather. The deep pink berry juice oozes from the cut Joan makes, and thoughts of the tantrum being thrown in the skies is driven from her mind.

         She gives a slice to Maud first, and hands her a small fork. Just as she is about to cut herself a piece, the double doors in front of them crash open.

         They scream, and the plate crashes onto the ground, as do the forks, and the knife Joan held clattering onto the wooden step below them. The two girls scramble up the stairs.

         Joan’s heart races as a figure stumbles into the mansion, allowing them a glimpse of what it looks like outside. A man’s silhouette is outlined by a flash of lightening, and Joan thinks she may just faint.

         She is barely aware of Maud’s fingers digging into her arm, her little fingernails leaving an imprint in her skin despite the thick sleeve of her dress.

         “Stay back!” she shouts, though her voice is drowned out by a rumble of thunder.

         “What?”

         There is a beat of silence from outside and she manages to catch his reply, the voice that belongs to the figure but sounds suspiciously young.

         Vera rushes in from the kitchen upon hearing the commotion. From where she stands, she can see exactly who the person is.

         “Boone!” she shouts. In her hand is a rolling pin, covered in flour and bits of dough. She waves it at the figure and rushes forward, and after closing the doors, does not in the slightest as she beats this “Boone” character.

         Joan straightens, only realizing as she does that she was cowering. The figure yelps now, throwing his hands into the air and trying to fend off the small bundle of fury that was once Vera.

         “Are you mad?” she cries. She dares not raise her voice, for, despite the bruises that will undoubtedly form on Boone’s skin, he does not deserve the wrath that will be unleashed by Lady Ailemer if she finds him inside her house.

         “No, are you?” he retorts. The pair step further into the house, and Joan winces as she hears the squelch of the boy’s boots on the polished floor.

         Vera won’t be pleased about that, she thinks, her thoughts confirmed when the rolling pin connects with the boy’s head.

         He shouts and clutches his noggin, sprinting to the nearest wall and flattening himself against it.

         Vera breathes hard through her nose. She only calms down when she finds the floor is covered in flour, water, and mud.

         “Oh, no,” she whispers. She looks to Joan and Maud, who stand stock-still on the staircase.

         “I’m going to tell Uncle Mathieu,” says Maud. She makes to turn and run up the stairs. Joan stops her, a hand on her shoulder. There is a dull pain in her arm from where Maud dug her fingers, but she rubs the spot and pushes the unpleasant feeling aside.