How It All Used To Be

1

How It All Used To Be
Kathleen lived on her father’s private property, separated from town and led an exclusive life. When she desired a tray of sweets, it would be brought to her and the tray would be taken away and she would not touch it again. When she desired cake for dinner, unfortunately, she still had to eat dinner, but cake was given. When she was five, she desired a doll with a red and yellow dress, complete with a star-shaped hat. There were to be red flowers on the golden silk layered dress and tiny shoes for the doll. Her mother took the request and found a carpenter to construct a child, a hand-sized mannequin with mobile joints. Her mother then sewed multiple outfits to fit the mannequin, including the initial requested design. Kathleen didn’t know what couldn’t be done and liked to test the limits of the people in the house.
However, until she was around eight, things that once seemed unlimited were now limited and beyond her reach.
“Mother, I’m bored,” Kathleen said, lying on the couch in her mother’s room.  “Where did Father go?”
“He has some very important matters to attend to,” her mother said, inspecting the stiches in the dress she was making.
“Like what?”
“Like you. He’s thinking of your marriage.”
“Why?”
“Because it will be good for everybody.”
“No, it won’t. I don’t want to get married.”
“We’ll see.”
“When is he coming back?”
            “Not sure. He has other errands to run.”
Kathleen digested the information as best as she could, but also with a growing dread, for she did not know what exactly her mother had said. She left the room and fingered the curtain in the hallway, rolling the fuzzy edges in one direction, then unrolling and rolling again. She spotted her father down below, stepping into the carriage and riding away, without even looking around for her liked he used to.
Kathleen heard the quiet footsteps of the butler approaching behind her. She did not bother to look at him, but only remembered his pitch-black suit with long rounded coattails. He reminded Kathleen of a cockroach – irritating, ugly, winged, and ready to be smashed at any time.
“What is it?” Kathleen asked without turning to face him.
“It’s time for class. Your tutor is here.”
“Tell her I don’t want to go.”
“You say that every time,” Oswald said, standing next to her. He took her hand. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time, so don’t worry.”
Kathleen said nothing but did not resist his hand leading her to the study. “Where’s Ian?”
“I haven’t seen him today. Would you like him to be here instead?”
“Where’s Fiona?”
“…I haven’t seen her either. It’s awfully quiet, today,” Oswald noticed, looking around.
“Uuuuggghhh!!” shrieked Kathleen in frustration. She stomped her foot and began to run. Oswald anticipated her reaction and picked her off the ground swiftly.
“Let go of me!” Kathleen struggled to escape his firm grip. She pounded on his shoulders, bit into his arm, and leapt way. He sighed and recomposed himself, massaging his arm. He wasn’t too worried about where she might run away to, but realized they would be late for tutoring, and decided it would be a waste to return to the tutor empty handed.
Kathleen ran to the garden and plopped herself down on the little table surrounded by a ring of roses, pouting so intensely the roses seemed to droop. She hated how today, no one seemed to be listening to her. Getting schooled was infuriating and lessons on politics, mathematics, and reading seemed boring and useless. Her mind wandered for a while in her tantrum, but eventually she calmed down. She tried to peer out to the edge of the property where beyond the white fence, the outside seemed more mysterious. Her house was suffocating. She wanted to see more than just the princesses, dragons, castles, and fairies in picture books. The two-dimensional images were simply not enough; she had ripped some of the books in frustration in a desire for a “real” picture book.
Kathleen waited to be found for what seemed like half the day. The sun was sliding in between the sky and hills, and the roses were beginning to cast shadows around her. She quite enjoyed the silence, but her stomach growled to tell her it was dinnertime.
            “Where is Oswald?” she sulked. She got up and decided to go back inside the house.
As she leaned on the heavy door, she was greeted by no one and a darkness. It suddenly felt like she was intruding into her own house. “….Hello?” she whispered.
She took another step inside, but tripped. Her foot caught on a stiff leg and her toes felt something warm and sticky. She could make out a familiar body blending into the darkness and onto the deep velvet carpet. It took her a moment to realize it was Oswald, whom she only knew by his clothing and voice, and not his presence, which was now a dead one. His neck was twisted and the sticky substance was seeping through his suit and dripping onto the carpet. She did not look at his face. There was a tray of chocolate croissants on the floor mixed in with broken china.
            “Oswald, Oswald, Oswald,” Kathleen’s voice croaked. “Get up.” Oswald was lifeless to her requests. Kathleen continued on for a few paces into the darkness.
            “Hello? Mother?” she whispered as best as she could. She began to rattle off all the names of the servants, but no one answered and they echoed on and on through the dark. “Ian? Fiona? Where are you? Lacy?! Rooobiin!!” The hallways and corridors of the first floor suddenly became foreign from the lack of light, and unsettling from the lack of people.
As she wandered for someone, her nose told her something was smoking, her eyes started watering uncontrollably, and she spotted the only source of light coming from the main hallway. She heard a quiet mutter, trembling and shaking from upstairs. Kathleen knew it was her mother, but could not make out any words. She ran frantically to the stairs, but only to find it in flames, ravenous and licking her bare ankles, anxious to eat the girl.
            “Mother, I’m here!! Help me,” she tried to scream, but only her mouth moved and whimpers came from her throat.
A harsh thumping and a gruff voice shouted from across the long corridor. Her voice shut itself off quickly as she looked to see what the commotion was.
            “There’s one more! Get them!!”
            The ground shook harder and harder as she saw huge men, dressed in black, rushing towards her. She stopped crying and held her breath as best as she could, trying not to hiccup. The smoke began to sting and the men melted into the hazy gray air.
“Don’t let them get away!”
Kathleen finally snapped out of her trance and ran. She sprinted over the walls of flames, past the trails of blood, over Oswald’s limp body, out the door, through the rose garden, pricking her skin on the thorns, and on the chair, onto the table, and over the fence into the unknown.
            Lost in fear, she dashed into the forest, growing with shadows as the sun sank beneath the hills, hoping to take refuge in the darkness. Her pearly sandals took her far past her house, but eventually she took them off and ran barefoot, sticks and leaves jutting into her feet.
She kept running until the full moon had climbed well into the sky. Her feet hurt terribly and her torn blue dress flapped in the cold wind. The smell of ash and the orange glow of light began to fade into the smell of earth and pine. Her voice returned and she spent the night crying until her eyes felt like they were crying blood rather than tears. Her stomach started eating itself and she licked the salty tears off of her face to try and moisten her throat again. She could not have thought about the men at that moment, nor could she think of the possibility of her screaming giving her location away. Terrified, confused, and heartbroken, she cried herself to sleep. She wanted the man on the moon to come down and take her away to some other place. She wanted to her father to return so she could hug him until morning came. She wanted her mother to finish the new dress she was making for her. She wanted Oswald to make her roast beef sandwiches. She wanted someone, anyone, to help and comfort her.  
The next morning it took her some time to process all that had happened: why no one came for her, what might have happened to Oswald, what might have happened to the other servants, what Mother was doing, who the black men were, and why she ran. The hunger and thirst took over her body and she passed out.  
She was not found until later that day, when a man happened to take a shortcut through the forest and found girl lying unconscious. After some asking and searching, he took the girl back to his wife and they agreed to care for the child since they could not have their own. 
            Kathleen awoke to a foreign bed, muted voices from outside, and a drab room. The blanket had billions of threads sticking out in all directions, and through the window came moonlight. She immediately froze at the sight of the door swinging open. An unidentified woman with a shawl came in with a plate of lumpy food and a glass of water.
            “Oh, thank goodness you’re awake,” she said, placing the food down. Kathleen stared at it, not entirely sure if it even was bread and butter. “You’ve been out for a few days.”
            “Who are you? Where am I?”
            “We found you collapsed on the road. You’re the daughter of the Vaughn-Relvoes, right?” she asked. Her voice was gentle, and in her eyes Kathleen could see the reflection of the candle.
            “…yes.”
            “What happened? Are you all right?”
            Kathleen struggled to get her mouth open, and found it harder to form words. “…there was a fire.”
            The woman’s eyes widened as she realized that she had seen the fire’s glow last night and that the girl in front of her had escaped. Looking at Kathleen’s demeanor, she knew that the girl must have seen things that, at her age, she should not have. 
“I’m so sorry, child. I’m…deeply sorry for your loss. I thank the Lord…for your escape, and for bringing you to us.” The woman’s words slid over Kathleen’s mind like a smooth rock on a frozen lake. The woman began sniffling, and Kathleen tilted her head in confusion. She could not feel the tears of the woman dropping onto her hand or hear her trying to suppress her condolences for Kathleen. The woman regained her composure.
            “Have something to eat,” she gestured. “If there’s something else you’d like, I can–“
            “I want to go–“ Kathleen stopped, suddenly unable to control her hunger. She began to eat and drink, then gagged. It did not taste like anything but it did not matter to her stomach.
            “Slowly, don’t rush it,” the woman said.
            “I want some beef,” Kathleen blurted, food spilling out of her mouth.
            “I’m sorry, I don’t think–we don’t have beef at the moment. Or steak.” The woman took a small towel and wiped her mouth.
            “What do you mean?”
            “Perhaps we can go buy some for tonight’s dinner. I’ll have to tell my husband to–Ah! Speaking of my husband, I should let him know you’re awake.” She left the room. The door opened again and in came a bearded man with gray hair, along with the woman.
            “Glad you’re awake.”
            Kathleen froze up again and stopped eating.  “Who are you?”
            “The name’s Joseph. This is my wife, Emily. Welcome.”
            A little more than a month had passed since Joseph and Emily took Kathleen into their family. Kathleen woke feverish many nights, plagued by nightmares and images of her burning mother and what Oswald’s face might have looked like, and spent most of her waking hours wondering what happened to her father.
He must be alive, Kathleen thought. Certainly he should be. Perhaps he had not returned from his trip yet. Did he know what happened to the household? Did he return the day of the fire to find it in flames, and then dive right in, hoping to die together with his wife? Did something happen to him on his trip? Was he completely oblivious to the situation? Kathleen suddenly had a wild thought: what if the fire was his doing? What if he had planned for the downfall of his own family, and thus went away? He could not have done such a thing, Kathleen concluded. She tried to steer away from her train of thought and took Emily’s offer to go to town for some pancakes.
The townspeople on Thursdays were the rotating spokes of a wheel and Kathleen was the hub. Someone was shouting from across the street about their neighbor’s son who had proposed to an older girl, another squealed about the baker who had hired a new assistant who was very handsome and tall, a young man spoke to others about his aunt’s lost cat, and the blacksmith had gone to the town guards again with another case of theft from his workshop. Kathleen eavesdropped with wonder as she held hands with Emily until they reached a man whose once-green hat had clearly drowned in muddy water or in whatever could have caused the brown stains. He stood behind his empty counter, smoking a cigarette. He had extremely bushy eyebrows, his teeth were yellowed, and he seemed to have a limp. Kathleen hid behind Emily in slight disgust.
            “How may I help you?” he asked.
            “We’d like some flour,” Emily said, holding out a bucket. “Enough to fill this.”
            “Sure,” he said. Kathleen poked out from behind Emily and crept out to the side of the counter to see him using a small cup to fill the bucket with fluffy white flour.
            “Here you go,” he said, holding out a tin can. The coins clanged loudly as they hit the bottom and Emily and Kathleen headed to their next destination.
Everyone after the dirty hat man seemed to just be a blur. All she could remember was that the cow lady was loud and only knew how to shout, the store that sold sugar was littered in vegetable scraps, and that chicken poop liked to stick to things. Emily held the milk and eggs, for she could not trust Kathleen with something as fragile as eggs, and thought she would trip and spill the milk if she carried it. After a whole trip through the town, they were finally heading back.
At the exit, Kathleen spotted a toy shop surrounded by groups of children, laughing and playing with the merchandise. Kathleen set her things down at Emily’s feet and let herself get sucked into the crowd.
            “Kathleen!” Emily called. She set her things aside near a clean portion of brick wall and followed after her as Kathleen jumped into a familiar realm: music boxes were clinking away, puppets sat with large, dilated eyes, fringed bows and rainbow ribbons hung from the shelves, a cabinet held neat stacks of books, and kaleidoscopes were being shaken and spun. There were too many things to look at. Her eyes drifted towards the Pinocchio, his nose longer than her finger. Next to him sat stuffed doll wearing a gold dress and a crown. She flipped a book open to a random page and saw a dragon breathing fire against an armored knight and three sparkling ladies next to him. Kathleen had seen a story similar to this, but it suddenly seemed like a distant a dream preceding a series of nightmares. She went from toy to book to accessory, poking or holding each one.
“Is there anything you’d like, honey?” asked Emily, who had suddenly approached her from behind.
            “No,” Kathleen said quietly. She shut the book and headed out of the store, squatting on the ground outside next to the flour, head in her arms.
The aftermath of the fire seemed to have finally hit her. The contents of the toy shop were once easily obtainable by just asking, but now Kathleen realized obtaining anything even so simple as pancakes had a process to it, and sometimes that process could amount to nothing. She could not get back what she lost in the fire – toys, books, or the people. Although an opportunity to reclaim two out of the three seemed to have appeared in the form of a toy store, they suddenly seemed superficial, and reclaiming them would have done her no good. What hit her worst was that her mother had died not knowing why, and that her last thought was of her daughter who could have died not knowing that people are irreplaceable and will come and go without warning. She could have died not knowing how to cherish anyone or anything at all.
Suddenly, she felt a tap on the shoulder. Kathleen lifted her head slightly just to see who it was, and Emily saw her red eyes become cloudy with tears as Kathleen took the doll.