Bleeding Bird

XII

The dumbwaiter was rickety and she couldn't help being a little afraid that the rope would snap, the pullies would slip, and she would crash, not to her death, but to a very unfortunate heap in the bottom of the cemetery house. Finally, grey light shown through a gap at the top and, trying not to bonk her mask on the walls and trigger unnecessary anger, she waited impatiently for it.

"Hello?" a face looked back at her.

"Hello," she said. She drew off her mask a moment, "It's me, Helen Taft, I was wondering if you would escort me back to the house."

She had never seen the boy before her prior to this moment, but she had supposed he would be staff. Once she saw his long violet jacket, however, and the leather back strung over his shoulder, she knew she was mistaken. A smattering of staff stood behind him—cooks, a few people from the barns including Sam and Lillian, and so forth.

"Helen?" Lillian asked, "what are you doing out here?"

"Uh...sleeping," Hellen said, remembering that she hadn't told her friends what was happening yet. She slid the mask back over her face and slipped out the dumbwaiter into the wet morning grass. Her dress caught on the edge of the dumbwaiter and she quickly ran a hand over her bottom so as not to flash everyone.

"Do you frequently use this as a place to sleep?" the boy who had been there to greet her answered.

"No. This is new," she shook her head, pulling off the mask and tucking it under her arm. She hoped Lillian wouldn't recognize that it was new.

"Well," the boy took a sip of a clear jar which hosted a yellow juice, "did you find it comfortable?"

"What is that?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Chicken broth," he said.

"Like the soup," she clarified, forgetting for a moment that everyone around her was waiting to send supplies down to the Musgraves.

"Yes," he said, "I make a batch every fall and have it frozen. Then, every morning, I take a frozen cube of it, boil it, and drink it. Helps with my...health issues," he nodded seriously.

Her lips quirked up in a slight grin and he looked almost hurt, but also a little unaware that she was laughing at him.

"I better get inside," she said.

"Etran, by the way," the boy said, shaking her hand. She caught a glint of something on his jacket. There were one million shining little pins.

"I love your pins, they're beautiful."

"Take one," he said, opening his back and revealing to her an entire bag of the things, "I have them imported from the east, so they're quite cheap."

"I'm alright, thank you," she smiled, trying to remain unjudgmental and polite.

"Let me know, if you want one," he shrugged.

Helen slid out of the way as they all worked together to unload their stock, sent it down into the dumbwaiter, and then loaded more and then more. And then brought up some crates from below—including one with a smudge from her footstep. The entire time, Etran with his magnificent purple coat, hung back, inspecting every move carefully.

Finally, they finished, and Lillian volunteered to walk back to the house with Helen.

"What were you doing out here?" Lilian asked.