The Suggestion Box (Volume 1)

Part 1: A Balloon and A Butterfly (3)

Based on the following suggestions:

Names: Ignatz Ratzkewatski, Butterfly Huffingtree, Horatio Whistlestop
Places: Londonshire, Devonshire, an abandoned castle in Scotland
Times: 7PM June 30th, Sunset, late 1700's
Objects: Rope and hot air balloon

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Horatio remained on the bench, lost in deep contemplation. The scene that seemed to have unfolded with absolutely nothing to do with him left him puzzled. What was so wrong about a boarding house? It wasn't like Butterfly was the sort of person to run a brothel, which he knew was the popular conception of many such houses. Yet Esmirelda's idea was an ingenious one; a proper, professional boarding house would be an admirable place to welcome all races and all sorts of travelers, without ever leaving one's town. He recalled her face when she had told him it was a secret; evidently Esmirelda had been afraid of it getting out. She was open and free with everything else on her mind; why hide this one thing?

The fact that Butterfly Huffingtree would want to hide anything at all was the one aspect that puzzled Horatio the most. Could it be possible that the young girl might be shy at all? Might she be using the ceaseless prattle as a shield to prevent anyone from peering to closely out of timidity?

Horatio didn't even hear the crunch of footsteps on the gravel walk out to that side of the garden. He had no idea how long he had been sitting alone till Ignatz called to him.
"Hello, Rate! What are you doing out here?"
Horatio looked up, momentarily disoriented by his surroundings after being so long lost in his own thoughts.
"Um, well, I-"
Ignatz waved a hand good-naturedly. "Never mind, old fellow! Come on back to the house," he slapped his arms and swung them to stimulate blood flow and warmth. "Brr! It's cold over here!"
Horatio followed his friend, ever mindful of the strange conversation he'd just had with the unlikeliest person he had yet encountered. He was a bit disturbed when the thought occurred that he might have been hasty in his judgment of her. Horatio promptly quashed that thought; a litany of comfortable objections bolstered his decision. A pet, nothing more, he reminded himself. A little girl-a child. Yet what sort of child would desire so ardently to run a boarding house and care for any number of perfect strangers? What sort of pet would consider anything beyond its own comfort and take pleasure in the comfort of others?
Yes, there was something different about Esmirelda Huffingtree, Horatio was certain of this. Perhaps it would not be the romantic relationship Ignatz had led him to believe would occur between them, but Horatio began to view a casual acquaintance with the effervescent young woman as a feasible outcome. He smiled as he considered the ramifications of commencing a long-distance "relationship" of correspondence, just to keep in touch and keep appraised of how she was getting on, and being able to see the transformation that would undoubtedly happen over the years in both her penmanship and the topics she wrote about.

When they reached the parlor, Paulina sat stitching quietly, Ludwig and Randolph bent over a chessboard, and Bethany was engaged in tutoring Esmirelda to paint. From Horatio's perspective, the patient, demure Miss Parrish was hard-pressed to even get the young woman to settle. Butterfly attacked the canvas with bold strokes from a brush positively slathered with paint. She squealed when blotches of contrasting color mixed with each other, creating a strange new shade. Sighing, Miss Parrish set the smeared canvas aside and provided a blue mat for her irrepressible student.
"Now, Esmirelda," she began once more, "I want you to use this canvas as a part of your picture. What does it make you think of?"
Butterfly's eyes sparkled. "The sky!" she breathed.
"And what would you place in that sky?"
"Clouds!" Butterfly immediately dunked her long-handled paintbrush into the tin of white paint and began slapping fluffy white mounds on the blue canvas.
"Pause for a moment, Esmirelda," Miss Parrish instructed. "Those clouds are lovely, but you'll want to consider what you want to put against your sky. Treetops? Birds?"
Butterfly studied the clouded sky for a moment. The frown melted into an expression of delight after only a few moments. "A balloon!" she cried.
"Pardon?" asked Miss Parrish.
Butterfly was already dipping a fresh paintbrush into the can of red paint. "I will have a Montgolfier balloon in my sky!" Before Miss Parrish could guide her to a more reasonable selection, Butterfly Huffingtree formed a wide red oblong smack in the center of the canvas. Many thin black lines and one yellow quadrilateral later, Butterfly stepped back to survey her masterpiece with pride. A red Montgolfier balloon hung in empty space.
Horatio shuddered at the sight; those things went awfully high, and with nothing to keep them from blowing away or even from deflating rapidly and plummeting to the ground. Let the French risk their necks in trying to convince the rest of the world that they were closer to God. If man had been meant to ride the sky as well as the ground, surely there would have been some easier means of doing so before now!