Defective (6 page)

Pater fell ill
shortly after the first of the winter storms. The storm had first
spattered cold rain, covering everything with a fine coating of ice
then the snows had arrived and covered the ice. Bull found the old
man sprawled on the floor one afternoon when he'd brought him his
dibs. The pickings were slim that day: one scrawny rabbit and three
black squirrels that looked like they had mange.

Jelly tended him
as best she could. She forced a tea of steeped yarrow, chamomile
and mint down his throat, with Bull and Narrow sitting on him as he
squirmed. The tea would help with the fever. Pater raved
incoherently but eventually fell asleep.

The one plant
Jelly wished she had was cure-all. It was one of the first plants
Ma had taught her about, telling her that it was the single most
important plant in her medicine box.

It's very strong,
Ma had warned Jelly. Too much could stop the heart but in the right
amount it could cure just about anything.

When Jelly had
packed to leave the orchard, she had checked her box but had found
no cure-all other than a small handful of seeds. No dried leaves,
flowers or root powder. She'd checked the herb garden the next
morning before they left, but the cure-all that had been growing
there had been ripped out. She didn't have time to wonder who had
done it; the Constable was ready to leave. She'd searched the
ditches along the way, looking for the tall purple-flowered plant,
but found none.

During his fever,
Pater had mumbled and quivered like a dreaming dog. Jelly kept a
pot of cold mint tea at her feet. She soaked clean rags in it and
placed them on her grandfather's forehead and neck, changing them
every so often. She stayed with him through the first two
nights.

On the morning of
the third day, Porkchop appeared at the front door of the house,
bundled in a blanket. The wind whipped a dusting of snow over the
floor. She closed the door with effort.

"How is he?"

"His fever's
finally broken. He's been sleeping for about four hours."

They both turned
towards the sound of the door opening. Titania stood wrapped in one
of the blankets from the hayloft. She held a corner of it in her
hand and drew it across the left side of her face.

"I thought you
might want a break, Jelly."

Porkchop frowned.
Titania didn't do chores. Jelly looked at Porkchop.

"I am tired," said
Jelly when Porkchop remained silent. "And hungry. It must be almost
breakfast." Jelly stood up and gave her seat to Titania. "Change
the cloths every hour or so."

"Let us know if he
wakes up," said Porkchop.

Jelly and Porkchop
bent their heads to the wind and struggled across the drifts in the
yard to get back to the barn.

___

"Why can't you
leave me alone? You tricked me!"

Pater's sudden
outburst caused a muscle in Titania's cheek to twitch. She had been
bent over, rinsing out one of the rags. She hadn't noticed him roll
over and open his eyes. He stared at her.

"Try to rest," she
said.

She held the rag
in her hand. His eyes were clear.

"You saddled me
with the boy. Wasn't that enough?"

"Just rest. You'll
feel better if you sleep."

"Nine," he said.
"That boy."

Pater stared at
her as she leaned forward and placed the cool rag on his
forehead.

"You don’t look
any different, you know that? You still look too damned smart for
your own good."

His eyes rolled
back in his head and when they came back to stare at her, they were
glassy. Soon they closed again and he fell asleep.

___

The ocean beat at
the coast and only the stupidest fishermen took their chances at
sea. Without a constant supply of seafood, the city of Andrastyne
had been forced to import supplies from inland communities and had
instituted rationing.

The man arrived in
the city well before winter. He had walked for days; first south
then east through bush till he found a road. He followed it, living
on whatever he could find and sleeping within the trees or in fern
beds along the road side. His face was now smooth and clear with
several days' growth of beard. Gone were the welts that had covered
his face, neck and arms. The bruises on his legs and back and hips
were fading but he now walked with a limp. He had no better idea of
who he was now than when he first awoke at the base of the
cliff.

He'd gone to
several homes on the outskirts of the city and begged for food or
water without success. In town, he'd gone into several shops, only
to be shooed away from every one of them. He finally came to a
lopsided wooden house at the end of the main street. A shingle with
lettering on it hung at an angle from a single hook. He knocked on
the door.

"Whaddya want?"
growled the man who yanked open the door. He could have been sixty,
he could have been thirty. There was no way of telling. His hair
was long and greasy, hidden beneath a wool cap.

He glanced over
the man’s shoulder. Inside the shop were piles of food — potatoes,
onions, turnips, apples — all waiting to be organized into
individual ration bags.

"I need a job," he
said.

E.R. Rank, one of
Andrastyne’s most successful jacks-of-all-trades, master of none
but pickpocket to all, had taken the city rationing contract
thinking that he could do the job alone and take all the profit,
including skimming off the better produce for himself. But when the
first load had arrived the day before, it was clear to Rank that
this was, at the very least, a two-man operation.

"Well, well," he
said, opening the door wide. "Ain't this a happy coincidence?"

___

Once he'd
recovered, Pater made an exception to his rules. Although the other
children continued to live in the barn Titania moved into Pater's
house and took his bed, a wood frame with a hay-stuffed canvass
mattress. The room, hidden by a curtain off the kitchen, was big
enough only for the bed but unlike the second, smaller cubby hole
where Pater now slept, it had a window.

There was only so
much they could do to prepare for a spring planting and the family
had a lot of time on their hands. Narrow would amuse himself for
hours, tinkering with things he found in the barn but boredom soon
set in for the rest. Jelly offered to teach them to read. She’d
been practicing with the two books that she’d brought with her from
the orchard and had found a few more among the crates.

As winter wound
down Pater disappeared more frequently. On many of those days Jelly
would turn his house into a make-shift school room; it was warmer
than inside the barn. Narrow and Titania took to reading quickly;
the rest struggled with it but only Porkchop eventually gave up,
echoing Ma’s belief that it was a waste of time when their job was
farming. Mixer would sit on Santa’s lap or Titania’s bed and gabble
the meaningless noises his family was used to hearing as he
silently memorized the passages they read out loud.

___

Titania sat on the
wooden chair on the porch wrapped in Pater's beaver skin coat. She
had been watching thin bands of steel grey clouds scud along the
late afternoon sky when she heard the honk. Turning down the collar
of the coat, she peered about. In the yard, near the well, a Canada
goose flapped in a nearby snow drift. Winter wasn't over but a thaw
had set in. It had crept in on a southern wind and had lasted long
enough to fool some birds into coming home early. She withdrew a
shard of glass from inside the depths of the coat. With a flick of
her wrist she sent it flying into the goose’s breast. The bird fell
over, spilling blood on the snow.

At the base of
Honey Hill, PC Pierre unhooked Josephine from the cart and led her
to a patch of land where the sun had melted the snow and the first
grasses had appeared. She’ll like the fresh greens, he thought. PC
Pierre worried more about Josephine’s diet than about her safety.
She scared off every bear that came near and he’d once seen her
kick a full-grown wolf to death.

As he climbed, the
smell of thawing earth and leaf mould filled his nose and the sun
warmed his face. He'd been cooped up in Baker's Yard for weeks and
it felt good to be out in the forest again.

Now he stood on
the plateau of Honey Hill and scanned the Western Woods. It was a
patchwork of green and white. The forest, mostly cedars and pines,
surrounded the hill and below him he could hear and see melting
clumps of snow and ice as they fell from tree boughs.

Since leaving the
children he had made the journey to his cabin only twice, on skis,
to do some trapping. Both times he’d set his traps then gone to the
lookout post. From the top he could just make out the edge of the
farm and would wait until he saw at least a few of the children. He
worried that his presence might attract Pater, who he knew had a
still stashed somewhere on the far side of Honey Hill, which could
lead to trouble. He’d promised Porkchop that he would try to check
on them but other than his surveys from the post, he had stayed
away.

For this third
trip he’d opted for Honey Hill instead of the lookout post. He
climbed up the cliff top for the best view and saw the barn and
part of the fields behind it. Pater's front porch was blocked by
trees.

The clouds thinned
for a moment and a streak of sunshine fell into the farm yard. A
flash of light caught Titania's eye. She looked up through the bare
branches and scanned the hillside. She saw the outline of the
Constable’s distinctive leather hat sticking out from atop the
jagged hill top and waited several minutes until he turned away and
was out of sight before she went and retrieved the bird. She
removed the shard of glass, wiped it clean on the snow and restored
it to its hiding place in the coat.

She picked the
goose up by its neck and dragged it to the barn. Santa was cutting
up potatoes into a pot at the table and singing softly. She was
surprised to see her sister. Ever since Titania had moved into
Pater's house they saw even less of her than they had before.

"I've got this,"
said Titania.

She dropped the
bird on the floor then shrugged off the beaver skin coat and hung
it on a hook by the door. She joined Santa at the table. Mixer, who
had been sitting at Santa's ankles beneath the table, crawled out
to investigate. He used the coat to stand himself up then buried
his face into the fur.

Santa walked over
to inspect the bird. Blood had congealed along a long thin cut in
its chest. She brought it back and heaved it onto the table; its
head dangled off the edge. She looked back at Mixer, who was still
hugging the coat.

Santa looked
briefly into her sister's eyes, then away. Santa had been twelve
when the accident happened and had helped Ma tend to Titania. She
was the one who sat with her during those first horrible days and
weeks; the one who brewed then helped her drink the cure-all and
rose hip tea that would speed the healing and dull some of the
pain; she was the one who had held Titania still twice a day so
that Ma could replace the compresses. She was the one who had given
Titania the mirror when she asked for it and held her when she
cried at her reflection. She’d seen the change in her sister’s
personality long before anyone else.

"Well, this bird
won't pluck itself." She paused then added, "I don't know if Bull
and Jones will come back with anything."

"Pater doesn't
need to know about this one," said Titania.

Titania stood up
and went to get the coat. Mixer protested when she took it away
from him. She heaved the great fur onto her shoulders and turned up
the collar. Mixer reattached himself to the hem. Bits of the fur
spilled from between his clenched fingers.

"Where is
everyone?" Titania asked.

"Well, Bull and
Jones are hunting. Porkchop is out in the back field somewhere.
Jelly and Forest are probably in the woods. Who knows where Narrow
has gotten himself."

Titania looked
down at Mixer. He looked up.

Mixer had been
looking for a way into Pater's house since they'd arrived. He
didn't know enough about him; he needed proximity. He’d noticed
that Titania had become increasingly restless as the winter had
dragged on so when Pater got sick, Mixer saw his chance to use her
impatience against her. He had first suggested that she help Jelly
care for the old man. That had gotten her inside the house. Now he
suggested that she do something nice for Santa, which would get him
inside.

He waggled his
head at her, thoughts flowing from his mind to hers. Titania
frowned. She saw something behind her brother's eyes she didn't
like.

"I can take him
for a while, if you want," she heard herself say.

Santa watched
Titania look at their brother. Was that a smile? Santa held out
hope that Titania's internal wounds could still be healed.

"Thank you, that'd
be helpful."

"I'll bring him
back for dinner." Titania picked up Mixer, tucked him inside the
coat and left the barn.

___

Titania trudged
back to the house. Mixer peered out from the top of the coat, his
eyes darting right and left.

Before the
accident, Titania had never known sadness or anger or frustration
or understood it in others. But she recognized it in the faces of
her family and she had only to look at them and their hurt would
abate.

The accident did
more than disfigure her face, it disfigured her talent. All the
feelings she'd never felt before — the sorrow, the spite and rage —
came in waves and hurt more than the burns had. She couldn’t take
her own hurt away, let alone that of her family. Her only
protection had been the emergence of a new talent.

When the Landlord
came to collect his first spring cider, months after the accident,
he found Titania standing outside by the press house door. She had
heard his horses and cart on the road long before they appeared and
had been drawn outside, her eyes closed and her head bowed. She
walked slowly to the rain barrel and peered over the edge at her
reflection in the water. Her narrow face and angular body had
rounded and plumped, her hair had turned from fox red to birch
blonde. She felt taller. She was beautiful in a way she had never
been, even before the accident. But just below the surface, where
only Titania could see, was the real her, the skin pocked and
puckered.