Stitched and Patched

I was bent over the little pond behind Master Sindre’s tool shed inspecting the burgeoning cattails and musing on whether or not Master Sindre had allergies when something came barreling around the bend and straight into me, knocking me ass over teakettle into the murky depths. I came bobbing right back up, sputtering softly and thoroughly displeased with this turn of events.

“Gads, mister, you looks wet as a raincloud and twice as angry.”

I was.

“You ain’t gonna rat on me t’Missus Octave are ya?”

I heaved a breathy sigh as I wiped algae off my brow and hefted myself out of the boggy mire. If she was one of Quartz’s kids I couldn’t tell on him, she was far too overprotective of me and it was an honest mistake. She and Windy doted terribly, as if it was too much for me to lift a needle to do the mending. . Quartz had her hands full with her brood, with more deserving orphans than she could deal with without her fussing over me. And Windy was being courted, the dear, and shouldn’t be bothering with her big sister.

“Er, you need any help there? I got this an it’s clean I swear”

I didn’t but I accepted the offered handkerchief all the same if only to appease the increasingly worried looking child. She must take my silence for something other than what it is.

“Well I’m Vi an if you gotta tell Missus Octave let her know I’m really really sorry and I really really didn’t mean t’knock you over an get you all soggy an I don’t mean to but I’m really good at running and not so good at stopping an”

I waved her off flippantly, letting her know I thought nothing of it even if I was starting to chill in the shade from the forest to my back and the light breeze which had been so refreshing earlier. After an appraising look around I grabbed a sturdy twig and walked purposefully into the sunny alleyway between Master Sindre’s mansion and the great overgrown hedge that separated his property from Genevieve Amos’s menagerie. I sat down right in the footpath and indicated that Vi should do the same. I moved my twig around in the dust, spelling patiently.

“Bee-Buh-Boo, oh Bo? You’re Bo? I’ve got a two-letter name too I mean I already told ya but I guess I should introduce myself all proper or somethin’. I’m Vi and it’s very nice to meet you Bo”

I took Vi’s small hand in mine and shook it like it was glass. It sounded rehearsed and probably was, the counselors taught all sorts of useless manners to the kids that passed through in hopes that they’d charm some rich family what could afford to care for them. I’d never once seen it do anything but make the child sound insincere and bored.

“Are you gonna tell the Missus on me? Cause if you are I’ll want t’hide out and wait till she’s calmed down a smidgen and I’d appreciate the warning.”

I shook my head in the negative and watched as the fiddled with a wild pansy she plucked from the grassy patch closed to the house.

“I mean I like Missus Octave just fine but she doesn’t really care for me you know?”

My head spun as I tried to find the right words to contradict her but nothing made its way passed my shredded vocal chords.

“She’s got so many of us lost causes and she’s so umm, jaded to us all I think. She’s not a home. I think I would remember what home was like if I felt it again and Missus Octave doesn’t feel like home.”

I leaned back on my arms, speechless for the first real time in a good long while. Vi was more than Quartz’s usual. She was resigned. I’d seen more hopeful looks on the terminally ill. How had this happened.

“I don’t want to blame her, Bo, she’s a lot nicer than my last stop in Islington, the matron there used to beat us with her riding crop and made us skip meals if we broke a rule. I’m glad I’m here with Missus Octave but it doesn’t feel, you know, right. She’s not a mom.”

Her words sank into every inch of me was we sat drying in the waning summer sun. I wondered how many people actually sat down with these children and got to know them. I’d thought Quartz was doing all she could keeping them healthy and clothed and fed and warm but this little girl, this statistic in the revolving door that Quartz’s house had become, this little girl made me look at it from the perspective of someone already fallen through the cracks.

Seeing it through her eyes opened mine and the world felt a little bit worse and a little bit raw for it. This wasn’t a problem I could mend or brush under the rug. This wasn’t something I could fix even if I had the words. And for the first time since my accident I felt truly helpless.