Part 9: In Which There Is Simply Too Much Family

I woke up with a start. There was a split second of panic, where I couldn’t tell up from down and the only thing I could see was a sliver of light.

The wardrobe door was flung open, blinding me with light. A young boy blinked squinted eyes at me, startled. A shock of long red hair was tied back in a pony tail. He wore what looked like a pair of pyjamas. The red stripe running across it crashed awfully with his red hair and freckled face. “Hide me!” He wheezed in what he obviously thought was a whisper. “Don’t let Jonathan know where I am!” With this he dove into the wardrobe beside me. The door had barely closed on his ponytail when there was a sound like a door being broken down.

“Where’d he go?”

The boy next to me breathed loudly through his nostrils sending huffs of air into my face. The wardrobe doors had not closed all the way, letting a sliver of light shine through.

Outside, another boy crossed his arms impatiently. “Sam!” His dark hair was long like the other’s and he wore the same clothes like pyjamas. His glasses sat on his nose, shielding almond shaped eyes.  A girl ran him over.

“Did you find Sam?” Picking her self up she stamped her foot, blonde curls bouncing angrily. She was the only one of the three not wearing clothes that resembled nightwear. “When I find him, I’m gonna–”

“Shh! Vivian, listen.”

In obvious attempt to be silent, Sam slapped a hand across his mouth. He inhaled little gasps of air through his nostrils, eyes wide. It was not very quiet.

“Found you!” The two screamed and pounced upon us, throwing open the doors and pulling helpless Sam out of hiding. He inhaled noisily, red face clashing terribly with his hair and PJs. Jonathan and Vivian looked surprised to find me there as well.

“He’s never been good at keeping quiet.” Vivian explained. “Even when he holds his breath.”

“Oh.” Was all I could say as struggling Sam was dragged out the door. He looked like the type of boy grown ups would describe as ‘rough,’ and who’s shoelaces were always untied. I looked down. Sure enough, Sam’s shoelaces trailed along behind him.

“What’s your name?” Vivian asked, dropping one of Sam’s arms once we had made it to the hall.

Sam sat up, gasping. “Are you going to be in the playroom tonight?”

Fixing his ponytail, Jonathan asked: “How old are you?”

“I’m Bridie and I am the host of the party so I will not be in the play room, no. I’m sixteen.”

Jonathan expertly straightened his glasses and said rather proudly: “Sam’s eight, but Vivian and I are fifteen and sixteen–old enough to go to the party. But Sam needs some one too look after him, so he’s staying in the playroom.”

“I don’t need looking after!” Sam stuck out his tongue. It was a strange golden color.

“You monster!” Vivian screeched. “You’re the one who ate my butter pie!”

The three raced down the hall, Sam’s laces trailing behind him like banners.

A woman with a worried look ran towards me. “Have you see three children? Two boys and a girl?”

“They seem to have disappeared.” Dahlia Swann came up behind her. “Mrs. Lee is very worried they may get in to trouble.”

Mrs. Lee nodded, looking ever fretful.

There was a dreadful thump some ways down the hall.

“That’s him. Tripping on his laces again.” Mrs. Lee took off. I couldn’t help but notice her dress very nearly resembled pyjamas, though by all means not unfashionable.

“Oh! Pumpkin,” Dahlia paused. “Did you meet my son?”

“Pardon, who?” Perhaps now was my chance to finally find out Darcy’s Brother’s name. Subtly, of course.

“My son.” Dahlia repeated as though I was simply hard of hearing. “Did you meet him.”

I smiled. “Yes, I did. It was nice to see him again.”

She looked pleased. “I’m glad you don’t mind. So many people, I though ‘what’s one more?’ And it’s been so long since either have us have seen him too. He’s been away at school for a very long time. Wants to go into something good like law, medical or teaching, like that. Isn’t it nice? Well then, ta, ta!” In expertise heels, she sped off, leaving me with much information about Her Son, though nothing as useful as his name.

~*~

I found Darcy and Her Brother waiting for me in the kitchen. I entered hesitantly, looking for a inedible vegetable filled cardboard box. Darcy met my gaze and shook her head. Sitting down next to her I whispered: “The storm has passed?”

“I think so. You’re lucky Bridie. It could have been much worse.”

But she spoke too soon. Mr. Post burst through the stain glass door and accosted us with a cardboard box containing ten kilos of tomaotes and a squash like the deformed head of a baby. Mr Post left with a bang and Mrs. Post gave a ‘tsk tsk’ and set to work.

I could have cried. “Darcy help me…”

She could only shrug and pat me comfortingly on the head.

Her Brother smiled encouragingly. “It’ll be alright.” He said. “Come on, let’s have cereal for lunch or something.”

With Mrs. Post waist deep in tomatoes, I was able to pull out ten kinds of cereal, eight of which were stale and had expired six months ago. I was just pouring milk into my bowl when there came a noise like thunder. The pots and pans on the oven shook and the kitchen doors burst open, relatives flooding into the room. The giant kitchen suddenly felt ten times smaller. Each relative was demanding edible food. It was apparent that Mrs. Post had served them yesterday’s Potato Casserole. One held up a chuck like a burnt coal.

“This thing is rock hard!”

“How old are these?”

“What are they?”

Mrs. Post looked like she could bust a vesel.

A tall, regal man rounded on me. “You. You’re Ms. Baxter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, don’t you have something edible for us to eat?” Said a plump, exotic woman next to him.

“Mama, I’m starving.” Two children wailed to her. They were both round and plain.

Hearing this, all the relatives suddenly turned to me with a passion. “What are we supposed to eat in this house?” The shouting turned to a roar and a couple raised fists in the air and brought up a chant.

Oh heavens, what am I supposed to do?

Darcy was all ready to pull me out of there, but I had decided I needed to fix this. Clambering onto the counter I gave my best shout.

No one heard me.

Mr. Post had come in through the door. He gave a bellow that was heard clearly above the mob. “Shut up, you lot, and let the girl speak!”

There was immediate silence.

“Thank you.” I nodded toward the gardener. “Look. I’m sorry you’re not happy with your meal arrangements. It’s my fault. And I’d like to apologize.” I turned to the Posts. “I’m sorry I’ve angered you both. It’s simply been a very long time since I’ve been in your company, and I’d ask that you’d give me room to make mistakes.” The two nodded and looked almost cheerful. To the rest of the throng I yelled: “Who wants pizza?”

Everyone gave up a shout. Darcy clapped. Her Brother helped me down from the counter, though not without knocking over a bowl of cereal. I took a deep breath to try and stop my heart from pounding. “I’m going to have to apologize to you as well.” I shouted at Darcy’s Brother above the noise. “I can’t for the life of me remember your name.”

He laughed heartily and leaned closer to hear. “Well, why didn’t you say so? The name’s Hale. Hale Swann.” He took my hand in his and shook it.

I grinned and blushed, adrenalin gone. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” And with that he led me grandly towards the telephone to call the pizza place.

~*~

April 10 2003

My Dear Bridie,

For your birthday this year I bought you a bicycle. You were more that ecstatic to try, but insisted on doing it yourself. That is, until you got on the bike. As soon as your feet left the ground you called for me to help you. I did, and after that you wouldn’t let me let go. I’m going to have to let go eventually, otherwise you’ll never learn how to do it on your own. Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow.

5 – 20 – 14

iiieee!!! Look what my friend made for me:

Isn’t it so cool?

And I also got this:

So yup like I said I can’t wait to keep going with Bridie’s Domain I have so many evil things in store for her so I hope you’ll stick around and I’ll keep posting once I’ve finished my school projects!

Toodles!

5 – 7 – 14

Hey y’all,

 

Just a random little update:
Bridie’s Domain is still alive, and boy have I got some things in store for Bridie and the gang. School’s finally winding down, and I hope once I’m finished my exams I’ll have time to post once a week! I’m super excited to be able to get this show on the road.
Until then, keep looking for further updates and my next post:
“Part 9: In Which There Is Simply Too Much Family”

 
Fun Fact: ‘Part 8’ was my longest post so far, twice as long as my average word count per post.

Part 8 – In Which Bridie’s Mansion Is Invaded

Do you have any idea how much chaos roughly fifty people can make? I’ll tell you:

Too much.

The Baxter Mansion was filled from top to bottom with uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews and staff. They all ran up and down stairs and halls, yelling and screaming. Above everyone else, it wasn’t difficult to make out the cackles of Aunts Bethany and Bonnie.

I heard all this from my bedroom, despite it’s distance from the guest wing. Unable to bring myself to venture out into the throng, I cowered here with Darcy. We discussed our next course of action.

“There will bed a party tonight.” Darcy paced my plush carpet, clicking together her fingernails. From where she lay on the floor, Waif’s head followed my friend’s every move. “The younger children–”

“Mummy, John is breathing in my face!”

“–will be in the play room, so this will be a little calmer and we will be able to interview the suspects more easily.”

From where I sat on my bed I heartily nodded agreement, just as an elderly cackle made it’s way through the noise. “More or less.”

One of the maids poked her head into the room. Her brows were knit together with a mixture of polite patience and desperation. It wasn’t hard to see she was at the end of her rope. “Darcy, we could really use your help out here.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Euphemia.” Darcy waved her away.

I objected. “I need Darcy in here with me.” They could not take her away from me at a time like this. As much as the unfortunate maid (Unfortunate is the only suitable adjective I could find for someone with a horrible name like Euphemia.) needed help, I needed Darcy so much more. There was something much greater at stake here.

The maid didn’t dare disagree, but her face twisted even further into vexation as she backed out the door.

I immediately felt guilty and called after her: “My apologies!”

Darcy continued to pace. Waif continued to watch. “We must keep our eyes and ears peeled. Everything they say could be held against them. Everything they say could be a clue, could lead us to something.”

“Everything?”

Darcy nodded solemnly. “Everything?”

“Even if one of the little cousins ask the way to the loo?”

“Bridie.”

“Sorry. But how are we supposed to tell what’s useful information and what’s idle chit-chat?”

Darcy paced. Waif watched.

“With our massive intellect.” She grinned. “I don’t know, but the human brain can do marvelous things. It notices a lilt in the voice, a flicker of the eye, a shift of the posture.”

“Yeah, but not mine. I can’t do that. I’m not Sherlock Holmes, Darcy, I’m not even sixteen!”

A dam broke inside of me.

I think many times we, whether or not we realize it, push aside certain thoughts. Whether it is because we do not enjoy the implications of said thought, or simply because it does not manage to surface to our consciousness, it is forced into the attics of our mind. There it sits collecting cobwebs and dust bunnies until we take a moment or a breath and it slips out. And that thought, so much larger because of the dirt and dust, tumbles down the stairs to the main room that is our conscious, taking everything else with it as it comes. It this way it creates a tidal wave of doubts and fears.

“What could I possibly do Darcy? I’m just a little girl with a big toy and impossible ambition. I have no idea what to do with this. I have no where to begin, no idea what to do, and no way to accomplish it.” I gathered the sheets in my fists. “What was I thinking, Darcy? That I’d play sleuth? Nose around a bit and the culprit would come to me begging for mercy? Stupid! There’s fifty of them, Darcy! And only one of me.”

Throughout my speech, Darcy stood quietly, didn’t pace, didn’t butt in. Now she came to sit beside me. Waif jumped on to the bed and placed his head in my lap. “You’re not alone Bridie. I’m here. Waif will protect you. There are so many people behind us on this, Bridie. You’re not alone.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “And say we did fail. What have possibly we got to lose? At least we can say we tried. How can we not try?”

I didn’t feel like trying. I felt like sitting in my room until the moment passed and the family went away. The sounds hadn’t faded. “Okay.” I scratched Waif’s ears and sniffled. “I’ll try.”

Darcy smiled. “Good.”

A knock. “Hello?” There was polite pause, waiting for an answer.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Euphemia! We told you–”

The door burst open. “I’m not Euphemia!” A young man charged into my bedroom, a great big grin on his face.

Darcy screamed. Waif and I jumped. Darcy jumped too. Right into the man’s arms. My dog and I simply sat, feeling quite frightened, while the two hugged, talking excitedly in my middle of my bedroom.

“How’d you get here?” Darcy squealed.

The man laughed. “I swam across the Atlantic Ocean.”

“When did you get here?”

Another laugh. “Just now.”

“Darcy…” My voice squeaked.

The two stopped and seemed to suddenly notice my existence.

I sat there, thoroughly embarrassed, for a very large variety of reasons. First, I had nearly been crying a second earlier and was not quite fully recovered. Second, I nearly felt like crying now, having been given an near heart attack by a stranger bursting into my room and sending my friend screaming. Third and lastly, there was a man standing in my bedroom. Despite the vast amount of people outside my door, I was not ready for company. In fact, I was in my comfy shorts with my Nintendo t-shirt. With my previously stray dog in my lap.

I wrapped my grey cardigan tightly around me to hide the bright red logo. “Who is this?” A thought struck me that this was Darcy’s secret significant other and the two of them had been separated for a long time because their parents forbade them to see each other, but that idea didn’t work at all because Darcy said:

“This is my brother.”

I blinked. “Oh.” I could see the resemblance now, matching blonde hair, same eyes and noses, similar chins. But I still could not recognize him. This was awkward, because I had met Darcy’s younger brother on several occasions. I became further embarrassed to find I could not remember his name. The only excuse I could find was that he was for the most part off at some posh boarding school and the last time I had seen him, I was quite young. I managed to smile. It was a very good excuse, I thought. Then I became embarrassed again because apparently he remembered me.

“Bridie! Long time no see! Too long in fact.” Darcy’s Brother flashed his smile. “How’ve you been? Remember me?”

Here I nearly said no, I don’t remember you, but I figured that would not be polite. I could see now how he was not the older man I had thought him to be, but a boy a little older than myself. And he could have once been a small boy come to visit his family during vacation, much like I did mine way back then. Somehow my brain was having a difficult time matching up this Darcy’s Brother with the much younger Darcy’s Brother I had met a very long time ago. I gave him an uneasy smile and came over to shake the hand he offered. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t and there was an awkward silence.

Darcy’s Brother smiled again. It was a sort of pitying, comforting smile, as though he saw how anxious I was feeling and wanted to help. This made me all the more uncomfortable.

He suddenly looked embarrassed. “To be honest, I don’t remember much of you at all.”

This made me feel much better and I was able to give a little laugh and say: “That’s alright. I don’t really either.”

Darcy’s Brother headed for the door. “I’ll leave you ladies to yourselves. I want to take a walk through Miss Baxter’s glorious mansion.”

Darcy hurried after Her Brother. “We’ll come with you.”

“Actually,” I backed toward my wardrobe. “I think I’ll stay here a while. I need to get ready for the party tonight.”

Darcy looked puzzled, but she didn’t question me. “Alright, see you later, Bridie?”

“Sure.” Giving a little wave I forced a smile. “See you later.”

Once they had left I scooped up Waif and carried him to the wardrobe, swinging open the heavy wood doors. Instead of picking out a sweater I shoved them aside and slid into a corner, placing Waif on my lap. I closed the doors part of the way (As it is foolish to shut ones self in a wardrobe.) and leaned my head against the back of the wardrobe. Breathing in the warm scent of wool, I let myself drift away. The riot outside my wooden fortress raged on.

~*~

June 21 2005

My Dear Bridie,

Mrs. Swann’s boy came to stay for a while. You looked a little wary of him at first, probably thinking he would be much like Basil. You soon found he was of mild temper, and you, him and Darcy had a jolly good time. I seem to have a problem, however. Even now I can not recall his name.

Part 7 – In Which the Guests Arrive

The suspects (I mean guests.) began to arrive the next day. Darcy and I insisted on being at the front door to greet them all. The foyer was one of the many rooms of the mansion that fascinated me. For hours as I child I would examine every inch of the vaulted ceiling and intricate marble floor. As we waited now I had to resist the urge to kick off my shoes and slide around the polished floors. But my willingness to please Darcy and Sebastian kept me in check. It couldn’t have been too soon for the family to arrive.  They came in bustling, demanding groups.

The great aunts came first. They all wore demure dresses and sort of blended together in an elderly lump. Sebastian, in all gentleman fashion,  greeted every one as they entered. The porters whizzed about,  grabbing the ladies’  bags and suitcases. Sifting through them, I tried to pick out the most suitable suspects.

Tall, withered and dark, Aunt Beatrice approached me first, looking me up and down with a sniff. I smiled politely. “Nice to see you, Aunt Bea.” Nodding curtly she brushed past.

Aunts Bethany and Bonny came next, ever plump and boisterous. They pinched my cheeks and patted my head. “Where’s the guest rooms?” They crowed. Bonny stumped her cane with impatience. “I’m hungry. How soon is supper?” I greeted them both briskly and they hobbled off, cackling.

Lingering a while was Aunt Betsy. She seemed timid and small. She shook my hand without a smile or a single word and followed her sisters.

The Aunts were not yet settled when the entire rest of the family managed to arrive at the exact same time. They literally drove up in a honking, budging mess of taxis, yet some how strangely synchronized. Then every single on of the taxi doors burst open at the same moment and people flooded towards the mansion. The Relative Apocalypse had begun. If the the porters had been in a hurry before, at that moment they must have been experiencing utter panic. Darcy and I only managed  to greet a handful of the family. Darcy must have seen my desperate look, but nothing could stop the constant flow of relatives.

As quickly as they had come, they were gone, and my friend and I were left standing in the empty foyer. Down the hall could be heard the sound of many men, women and children.

Slumping against the wall, I let out a sigh. Darcy crossed her arms and chewed her lip, looking somewhat stunned.

“Now what?” My question echoed off the vaulted ceiling and hung there, unanswered.

~*~

December 20th 2003

My Dear Bridie,

This morning my sisters arrived. Obviously overwhelmed with the amount of new ladies you turned to me and asked, not at all quietly: “When can we bring the grouchy old hags back?”

From here on forward I’m going to have to watch what I say.

Part 6 – Wherein Bridie Meets the Neighbors

The Mansion gate had only just come into sight when Waif decided he couldn’t walk another step. Without warning he collapsed on the lawn, letting out a most exhausted huff that blew his whiskers.

Glancing down the road, I said: “Come on Waif, we’re almost there.”

Another huff.

“Might as well carry him.” Darcy suggested.

I obliged, heaving the dog into my arms. I had only just turned away when a voice demanded: “Did you just let your little mutt relieve himself on my front lawn?”

Turning, I saw a man stalking over to where we stood. A few feet away from me he stopped, hands on hips. Now I could see he was not a man, but a boy. Though he towered above me, he had boyish features. His freckled face was pulled into a menacing frown. “I asked you a question, madam.”

With I huff I answered angrily. “I heard you, sir, and no, I would not allow my dog to use anyone’s lawn as a loo, most of all yours.” From my arms came the low growl of Waif.

Cocking his raven head back, the boy smirked. “Oh great, just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, look who appears. Mrs. Bridget Baxter herself.”

I blinked. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

The boy laughed. “Of course you wouldn’t want to remember me.”

“I supposed not, though I can’t imagine why.” I retorted.

Darcy nudged me, reminding me of my manners.

Sticking out a hand, I muttered. “My name is Bridie Baxter. Pardon me, but I seem to have forgotten yours.”

He took it grudgingly. “Basil Stubbings. We never saw each other much, but when we did, they weren’t happy meetings. Do you remember what I did to your dog?”

I had a vague idea, but I replied: “No.”

Flashing a grin he made a motion with his hand. “I tied pop cans to her tail and let her run around.”

My face must’ve turned bright red, because he laughed. It took everything in me not punch the guy right in the face. The look Darcy had told me that if I hadn’t been there, she would’ve said a really bad word. Both of us had been very fond of Little Dot.

“Hey, girls, don’t look like that. That was years ago. I’ve matured a little.” He held up his hands in defence. “By the way, who’s this one?” Bending over me, a little too close for comfort, he patted my dog’s head.

Waif growled. I frowned. “Waif.”

He stepped back, mocking grin still plastered across his face, eyebrows raised. “Really? Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“Stray. Lost person or animal.”

Desperate to defend Waif’s honor, I replied with a snarl. “Well, I don’t know why you find that so funny, cause that’s exactly what he is.”

Darcy had been watching this whole time, rather angrily. Mrs. Post’s potatoes were probably the only thing that kept here this long. “We’ll be leaving.” She said finally. Placing a hand on my shoulder she steered me away.

I  back at Basil, who gave me a lopsided grin, cocked his freckled face and waved good-bye.

“Man alive, I wish I could give that boy a piece of my mind.” Darcy mumbled.

“Or fist.” I added.

Waif yipped.

~*~

June 5th 2005

My Dear Bridie,

Mrs. Stubbing’s great nephew moved in with her this week. She called me this morning and explained–very kindly, mind you– that yesterday he came home with a black eye. With a very angelic look on your face you explained that “Basil hates dogs, and I hate people who hate dogs.” I’m sure there’s more behind this.

Part 5 – In Which Bridie Goes Shopping

Just after I had finished re-rearranging the furniture in the sitting room (the piano had mysteriously moved to the other end of the room), Darcy entered.

“Oh, how perfect.” I jumped up from the red velvet couch where I had been resting and scampered up to her. “You’re just the person I had wanted to see. You and I are going to go shopping. I need to prepare for the guests.” Grabbing her by the arm, I dragged my friend from the room.

“Shopping? Whatever for?” Darcy asked, crooking a perfect and puzzled eyebrow. “Mrs. Post has all the food we’ll need, and the maids will take care of everything else.”

Waving a long piece of paper in the air I grinned as we turned a corner of the hallway. “Yes, but there are a few necessary precautions we must take.”

Digging her high heels into the plush burgundy carpet, she brought us to an abrupt stop. She snatched the list from my hand. ” ‘Bridie’s Shopping List. What we’ll need when the family comes.’ Number one is baby powder?”

I nodded seriously. “For dusting for fingerprints.”

She glanced at me pointedly but continued. “Rope, chair, and rat poison?”

“In case things get out of hand.”

“And where, my dear, are you going to find a Security 3000?”

I shrugged. “Hardware store?”

Propping hands on hips, she leaned down over me, not impressed. “Birdy dear, I think you–” She was interrupted by a earth quaking voice.

“Mr. Post, what do you mean by placing these vegetables upon my kitchen table?” Mrs. Post thundered.

Darcy must have seen the look of extreme guilt that went over me, because she grabbed me and raced in the direction of the kitchen, hissing through gritted teeth: “Bridget Baxter, what have you done?”

Darcy never called me by my given name unless she was really, really mad. To add my last name, well, let’s just say that our shopping trip might have been postponed. For forever.

It was my turn to dig my heels into the carpet as we neared the kitchen. “Darcy…!”

The kitchen was filled with the green smell of fresh vegetables. I peeked through the doorway, cautious of what I might find inside. I got a sick feeling in my stomach at the sight of what lay there. The counter groaned under the weight of a humongous cardboard box filled to the brim with the biggest potatoes I had ever seen. Darcy dragged me into the room, right up to where the cook and gardener stood. I stood there, feeling very ashamed as they argued. Darcy tried to make amends, saying my dear Mrs. Post, what might Bridie think and how do you, Mr Post, think Bridie must feel right now? None of it did any good. Mr. Post simply slammed the stained glass door and Mrs. Post said with an awful huff: “Well then, we can’t let perfectly good vegetables go to waste! Lunch will be in an hour!”

I eyed the crate of potatoes. They looked like dirty rocks. Chances are they had the flavor and consistency of them as well. It would take her at least three hours simply to peel them.

Darcy was completely fed up. She got all calm like, the only hint to her boiling anger the tap of her fingers on her hip. “We will not be home for lunch. Bridie and I are going shopping.” With that she stalked out of the room.

I blinked and followed, grinning and pleased that our shopping plans were still on and I wouldn’t be having the “Post Potato Platter” for lunch.

~*~

“Darcy…”

“Bridie…” Darcy copied my whining tone, frowning. “No. You may not buy rat poison.”

“Aw.” I turned to the display in front of the pest control shop. Pressing my nose to the cold window where rats were displayed, killed in a variety of ways.  Glancing back to my friend I asked hopefully: “Mouse traps?”

“No!”

I huffed and slouched. So far, Darcy had talked me out of everything. Turning away from the bear trap display with deep regret, I followed her down the street.

Small crowds of people milled about the small streets of the town of Roseville, not a car in sight. A wave of deja-vu swept over me and I felt a smile lift the corners of my lips. Grandpa and I had often walked down this street.

“Wait here, I need to get something for Dahlia.” Darcy never called Mrs. Swann “mom,’ except on rare occasions. Stepping into a shop, Darcy let the door close behind her with a jingle. It was obviously a new shop. Boxes were stacked in the window, the display not yet fully unpacked. The sign above the door was a signature so flowery I could not make it out. Boxes in the window obscured my view from what was happening inside.

A bark distracted me. Under a stop sign sat a scruffy, unkempt terrier. Straining at the rope holding him there, he cocked his head in a pleading manner and began to whine.

I hurried over too inspect the dog. As I knelt beside him, I realized he wasn’t dirty. The shaggy thing was simply speckled all over in every color a dog could be: silver, two kinds of ginger, grey, almost pink, brown, cream, as well as black and white. A white muzzle resembled whiskers. Tied to the rope around his neck was a note:

“This is Waif. Be very kind to him.”

“Aw, you pitiful thing, you. I wish I could take you home, but I’m afraid Darcy isn’t in the mood for letting me bring anything home.”

Waif cocked a ginger ear and placed a white paw on my knee. Letting out the smallest, most insignificant whimper, he curled closer, looking as tiny and helpless as ever. His deep brown eyes bore a hole in my heart.

Darcy came our of the shop just in time to witness me in the act of stuffing the puppy up my shirt.

“Birdy dear, let the poor animal go.”

“Dog? What dog? I haven’t seen any dogs.” I tucked in an exposed polka-dotted tail.

“Bridie.” Darcy frowned, but a twinkled in her eyes betrayed her contained laughter.

I suppose the bewildered head poking out of the neck of my sweater did look rather silly. With a sigh I pulled him out and placed him on his feet. “Darcy,” I began, getting to my feet.

“No. Bridie, we have enough to worry without a dog running around.”

Waif was pulling at the shoelaces of my sneakers. I picked him up and held him near, doing my best to imitate Waif’s puppy eyes. I stuck out my bottom lip in a pout. “Darcy, please?”

She massaged her temples.

“He looks just like Turandot.” I whispered.

She smiled sadly and ruffled my hair. “He does look like Little Dot. Alright. Seeing as we couldn’t get a Security 3000.”

“Yes! Thank you Darcy.” I let Waif slip from my arms and skipped ahead, dog bounding at my heals. “You hear that Waif?”

He barked, tail whipping at my legs. Darcy slipped an arm around my shoulders and we carried on like that, down the street towards home.

~*~

April 25th 2005

My Dear Bridie,

Today you came home with a puppy. “It followed me home.” You said, holding up the rope tied around it’s neck. It was not a pretty thing. Small, scruffy, and covered in many different colors. Mrs. Post said you should call her Dot. You insisted that was not a proper name for a dog. Much too plain, you said, for a special one like this. Help me think of another one. I had recently read a book about such a character, and suggested you call her Turandot. I’m glad you liked it.

10 – 18 – 2013

Hallo,

School’s been super busy and life’s just crazy, but things are slowing down, so I hope to get this story up and running in a couple weeks.

Bridie’s not dead yet!

9 – 7 – 2013

Hey, sorry like you two people that actually read this. But school’s starting up again so I’m really busy getting into the swing of things, so i might not post for a while. And if I do, it’s probably be short. Yurp.

Part 4 – In Which Bridie Decides Life Is To Short

Within my recess of my bedroom, I grabbed a notebook and sprawled out on my bed. If I was to solve the mystery of Benedict Baxter’s death, I would need to think like a detective. And, I deduced, detectives had notebooks. First I began with the family tree, starting with the the first thing I could recall:

Christopher and Millie Chant had two children: Robert and Julia.

I made a scribble in my notebook and decided the Chants had rather dull names.

Christopher was the son of Betsy, one of Grandpa Baxter’s five elder sisters. From oldest to youngest they were Beatrice, Bethany, Bonny, Betsy, and Blaise. Each sister had one or two sons. Except Blaise, who had a girl. Each of the five sister’s sons had a handful of children. Except Blaise’s daughter, my Aunt Pamela, who never married.

I made another scribble. Darcy had explained the whole thing to me, but it all seemed to be an organized mess of names and odd relatives.

Great Aunt Blaise had passed away before I was born, but Grandpa had always said she was his favorite. Aunt Pamela, had also passed away, but Grandpa and I liked her too. My memories of her were always sweet — much like the candies she always brought me. The rest of Grandpa’s sisters were ‘grouchy old hags.’ (Grandpa’s words, not mine.)

I held my pen poised to write this down, but thinking better of it I gave up. Tearing out the page I threw my hands in the air. How was I to have each family visit in turn? I would take months! (Possibly years.) Calculating on the torn page I estimate just how long it would take. (One hundred and forty days.) Life was to short to invite every family member separately. I rung for Darcy. A minute later a woman entered my room instead.

“Good morning, Pumpkin!” Dahlia Swann booped me on the nose with her feather duster. Darcy had definitely inherited her good looks from her mother. She swept me up in a dainty bear hug. After adjusting her perfect hair (Seriously, this woman had hair to die for.) she looked me up and down with her dazzling blue eyes and said: “Look at you! You’ve grown a mile high!” Which, I know wasn’t true, as five foot two wasn’t exactly a “mile high.” She tsked. “still haven’t managed to tame that cowlick, eh Pumpkin?” Patting down the wild hairs on my forehead (Rather uselessly.) she asked: “Anything I can do for you?”

I nodded vigorously, loosing a few more hairs. “Yes. I’d like to hold a party–in Grandpa Baxter’s honor. Can I do that?”

“Course you can, Pumpkin. Who would you like to invite?”

“The whole Baxter family.”

Dahlia blinked mascaraed lashes. “All of them?”

I nodded again. “Yes. Can we fit them all?”

The maid laughed lightly, flicking a manicured hand. “Like I say, Pumpkin, the Baxter Mansion is practically a castle. Of course we can! It’s just…” She leaned in to whisper: “Even Cousin Angus?”

I nodded again. “Especially Cousin Angus.”

“Alright then, Pumpkin, if you’re sure. I’ll get one of the maids to make up some invitations right away.”

Something made me grin as she left the room.

~*~

December 25th 2003

My Dear Bridie,

My niece, Pamela came today to spend Christmas day with us. She brought you a sweater and candy. I must admit that I was extremely surprised to find that you tossed the candy aside and excitedly pulled the sweater over your head. I don’t know many other children, but I’m quite sure that they would not like to get a sweater for christmas. You’re extra special, Bridie. I love you that way.