Sandy's Unexpected Future
By Clarissa
I have a story for you. You might not like it, though, it’s not a happy story. At least, not at first. It’s unhappy because it’s important, and there are forces in this world that will continually try to ruin important things. This story is about a woman named Cassandra, but everyone called her Sandy because of her hair color, which was neither gold nor brown. When she was a beautiful damsel of sixteen, she was rescued from her distress by a handsome young magician named Rigel. Sandy didn’t tell me what her distress was specifically. I think it had something to do with an ogre. But whatever it was, Rigel saved her, they fell in love, and soon after they were married.
Rigel was a very smart magician and a keen businessman, and soon became very successful. He bought a large house in the woods, miles away from town, just like Sandy had always wanted. They had six children together, who were all very bright and active.
Sandy’s happily ever after did not last. What had been important to both her husband and herself changed gradually but oh, so drastically over the years. I’m talking about things like honor, and kindness, and honesty. He became more powerful, as magicians go, and quite feared in town. No one wanted to cross him, and he liked that a great deal. He’d always been an opinionated, assertive man, but shall we say that power --as if often does-- yet again corrupted the proud?
His wife saw the change in him, but being a very meek and easy going woman, patiently tried to keep him happy. He had quite a temper, and apparently it was her job to keep it from flaring up. She had suspicions about what kind of dealings his business had going on, and heard disturbing gossip from the marketplace, but she knew that was a subject she could not bring up with him without retribution.
You may wonder why she stayed with him, a husband who was becoming quite the underhanded villain. As their gardener, I wondered that often myself, since I couldn’t help but overhear him yell at her for nothing, insulting her, and sometimes even throwing and breaking things in his tirade. If he ever laid a hand on her, she didn’t let it show. But, villain or not, he was still her husband.
He frightened me. I was scared out of my skin that I would trim a hedge too bare and be burned to a crisp by one his spells. But Sandy I liked very much. She would often come out to talk to me while I was trimming the lilacs, or bring me cookies that she had just baked. I was over ten years younger than her and a servant to boot, but she treated me like a little sister.
They only thing they really had in common was their children. Sandy stayed for them. All six of them. Rigel was frequently gone for days at a time --on business, he said-- and so they had the house to themselves. They were a lively bunch: four boys and two girls, a set of twins amongst them, ages ten to two.
This way of life might have gone on indefinitely if the oldest boy, Lucas, hadn’t grown up to be so very stubborn. Or brave. I’m not sure which. One day, he had the gall to stand up to his own father. I was off cutting the grass, so I didn’t know what had happened until I heard screams and shouts, and when I’d come running to the French windows, I saw Lucas dangling upside down by one foot, and Rigel shouting down at him. Rigel’s left hand was up in the air, and the other had fire dancing in its palm, ready to burn away.
“I’m not afraid of you!” Lucas shouted back, folding his arms even while hanging helplessly.
“You should be!” his father snapped. “I could roast you like a piece of meat, here and now!” he looked over at the blazing fire in the hearth. “Shall I drop you in there?”
The other children started either hiding or screaming and tugging at Lucas, trying to pull him down to the floor, but Rigel’s spell held him up there.
Sandy stepped closer. “Stop it, Rigel! Put him down!”
“You’re undermining me?” Rigel gave her a glare, which should have shut her up.
“You’ve gone too far!” Tears were streaming down her face. “Please, stop.”
Her husband looked at her in disgust. “Taking their side...!” he pushed her away from him, hard enough to make her fall to the floor, and to make Lucas yell out, “Mom!”
Rigel turned back to his oldest son. “Now you listen to me--”
“I’ll call Magicourt!” My voice rang out, a strange sound. Rigel’s head twisted in my direction. I gulped. “I really will call them if you don’t stop.”
Magicourt was the police organization that stopped magical villains, if you will. To call them was very simple, and didn’t even require the use of magic, but no one called them if they could help it. Raising a false alarm was a good way to get yourself locked up for months, if not forever. They take their justice very seriously. Every child in the town I grew up in was taught how just in case, but we were also told not to use those words unless it was absolutely, no other way out, life or death emergency. Because the pain of a false alarm could in fact, be death.
Slowly, Rigel lowered his son to the floor. His fist clenched, and smoke came out. But his temper was far from cooled. He turned his full attention on me then.
“You are just like a yappy little dog that I’ve always wanted to kick,” he said.
I turned and ran.
“The kind that makes a fuss and sounds the alarm, but is really useless,” Rigel added, and took off after me.
It was like a bad dream. I couldn’t run fast enough. The ground to my left caught fire, and then the ground a few feet ahead and to the right. I went for the woods, looking for a place to hide, but knew that wouldn’t help for long. I dove under a fallen tree and yelled with my last breath,
“Magicourt! Emergency! On pain of death, Magicourt emergency!”
Just as I saw Rigel’s face come around a tree and grin when he saw me, just as the fireball left his hand-- a barrier went up, dissipating it instantly.
We were both stunned.
“Rigel Thorne,” a man’s voice above me said. “I am Marc, an officer of Magicourt. You are under arrest for Magical Misconduct.”
I poked my head out from under the log to see a tall (at least from my perspective) young man with perfectly combed hair give an imperious gesture that caused handcuffs to materialize around Rigel’s wrists.
“You will come with me now,” he said.
“This is an outrage!” Rigel bellowed.
“Yes, yes it is,” Marc agreed. “You should have been reported years ago. We’ve been looking for you for quite some time.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Rigel said, struggling against the cuffs desperately.
The young man, Marc, looked down at me, and stepped off of the fallen tree. “You are the one who called? Are you all right, miss?”
“Yes,” I started crawling out, limbs shaky. He helped me up, and made a slight face at the dirt on my hand that transferred to his own.
“You’ll be needed as a witness,” Marc informed me. “You don’t have the right to refuse, but I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said. Without any further warning, all three of us vanished, to reappear at Magicourt, the place all wizards and magicians and witches dreaded to go.
Part 2
In a tired, deadpanned voice, the Secretary of Magicourt read out the charges from a fancy scroll. “You have been summoned here on accusation of Magical Misconduct, including Domestic Abuse --don’t bother, this place is fireproof-- and Oppression of the Common folk. How do you plead?”
“What sort of trial is this? This wench is lying, and I have done nothing wrong.” Rigel ranted. I winced next to him. He still scared me, even in handcuffs.
“Not Guilty, then,” the Secretary wrote, quite unphased. “If you have been falsely accused, the ‘wench’ will be severely punished, I assure you.”
“I’m not a wench,” I muttered. As a virtuous, single maiden of eighteen, this particular insult was not one I took kindly to. I had my reputation as a respectable gardener to consider.
“This is all a lot of nonsense. Do you know who I am? I am Rigel Thorne of Asingoth!”
At this, the Secretary of Magicourt looked up. “The Rigel Thorne? The murderer at large?” He shuffled through some papers. “Oh, yes! You were also charged with murder halfway across the country a few years ago. Should I mark ‘Not Guilty’ for that as well?”
Rigel paled and set his teeth on edge. “It was a fair fight.”
I looked up at him, horrified and wishing I could stand behind the Secretary. Or Marc, the one who arrested him. Marc had left us to talk to a superior officer in another room, and I really wished he hadn’t.
“So, Not Guilty.” The Secretary checked a box on the scroll, and added, “This isn’t a trial, by the way. It’s just processing. Your trial will take place as soon as the judges are ready.”
“They’re ready, Oswald,” Marc came back to say.
“So soon? It has been a slow day, hasn’t it?” Secretary Oswald chatted, stamping some papers. “Off you go, then,” he waved us away.
“Follow me, if you would.” Marc said, turning back the way he came. Rigel made a run for the door to our left. The knob zapped him like lightning, and knocked him unconscious.
“Tch. Typical.” Marc said, and hoisted the limp man over his shoulder.“No, not you. You stay here and give your statement to the Secretary, miss. Oh,” he added in an undertone. “Don’t forget to ask about the bounty.”
“Bounty?” I repeated.
“Oh, you would bring that up.” The Secretary grumbled. “You hardly did anything, I don’t see why you should get all that money.”
“What about me? I brought him in.” Marc pointed out before leaving.
“It’s your job!” Secretary Oswald sighed. “Well, you were listening to incoming calls for two weeks straight. I’ll see what I can do.”
After giving my statement, I went in to listen to the last bit of the trial, as instructed. It was a completely dark room apart from the spotlight on Rigel, who was still sleeping, in a chair. The three judges, hidden in the dark, discussed Rigel’s fate while Marc (who I hoped I wouldn’t leave me again) and I listened.
“He’s become a somewhat prominent figure in the community, hasn’t he? And a big bully too? It ought to be something big,” one said.
“Use him as a warning? It’s hardly worked before. Having the alpha bully nabbed only gives courage to the small-fry bullies,” another scoffed.
“Let’s just concentrate on making his sentence fit his crimes,” the third intervened. “He likes burning things, right? Shall we turn that back on his head?”
“Like feeding him to a dragon?” the first suggested enthusiastically.
Rigel was starting to come to, and at that remark, began struggling against his cuffs again.
“That’s over too quickly,” the second judge pooh-poohed. “He’s been at this for years, so it ought to be something worse.”
“Like a volcano!” the first judge sounded excited.
“Exactly!” the third agreed. “Let’s roast him in a volcano. Just sort of hang his cage over it. Gentlemen, I think we’ve come to an agreement.”
You’d think they were discussing dinner plans. Rigel begged, pleaded, and threatened. There was no jury. I walked out of there shivering.
Marc and I ended up splitting the bounty for the capture of Rigel Thorne. It was not a lot of money, but more than I knew what to do with, and all I could think of was giving it to Sandy. You haven’t forgotten about her, have you? When we arrived back at her house, Marc and I walked up to the same French windows to find her furiously scrubbing the sooty floor by the hearth. When she saw me, she gasped and tackled me in a hug.
“Ari, I didn’t know what happened to you!” She squeezed me a little too tightly. “Edmund (her second-oldest boy) said he saw a man appear and take you and Rigel away!”
Marc told her that he was from Magicourt, how he’d arrested her husband, and how Rigel was wanted for murder.
Sandy nodded solemnly, wiping a tear away with the back of her sooty hand. “Is he dead now?”
“No, madam, but he is probably going to die while being imprisoned for life.” Marc glanced at me, and I shuddered, thinking of the volcano.
Sandy nodded again, almost absently. “That’s good.”
“And...” Marc trailed off uncertainly. “I’m sorry about this, but until your husband’s affairs are settled, I was appointed to be your caseworker, which means I’ll be staying around until your family is all right.”
“Oh? What affairs?”
“Well, upon sentencing, all of his spells that he was holding were cancelled out, such as all of his protections and wards around the house.”
“I thought that only happened at death.” Sandy wrinkled her nose.
“Sadly not. So it’s my job to stay and recast them for you.”
“And here,” I handed her a sack of coins. “This is for you.”
“Why, what is this?” Sandy asked.
“It’s the bounty for your husband,” Marc explained.
At once, Sandy pushed the bag back into my hands. “No, dear. I won’t take any bounty money.”
“Please take it, Sandy!” I urged. “You need it more than I do! Besides,” I added, smiling crookedly. “I want to keep my job.”
Sandy sighed, narrowing her eyes at me. “Fine. Stay for dinner, you two,” she said. “It will do me a lot of good to have some guests.”
Over a large crock of hearty beef stew, we joined Sandy and her children around their table for dinner. She sat at one end, and Marc and I were squeezed onto the bench with the twins, Bartholomew and Briana, and the youngest girl, Violet. For whatever reason, the other end of the table, the large oak chair where Rigel would sit, was left empty.
The stew was delicious and warm, and though the atmosphere was hushed, it felt so comfortable, especially with Violet sneakily dropping her peas in my bowl and grinning at me. And then, with the tact that most children possess, Briana asked “Where’s dad?”
Sandy looked at Marc and I, not quite knowing what to say.
“He’s not coming back, is he?” The oldest boy, Lucas asked, not sounding at all sad.
Sandy put down her spoon. “No. Your father is going to prison. He’s not coming back.”
“Ever?” Bartholomew asked.
“Ever.”
“YAY!” The children started cheering quite irreverently, as if all of their birthdays had come at once. Sandy winced. Quietly getting up from her chair amid all the jumping and yelling, she went to her room and closed the door behind her.
Sandy’s door was locked. When her children discovered that she wouldn’t respond to knockings and callings, they decided to start cleaning up the house. They weren’t sure why she was upset, or if they were in trouble, but they did know one thing that was sure to help. I joined the second oldest boy, Edmund, in washing the dishes. The twins wiped them dry and put them away in the cupboards. Rupert, the third oldest boy, scrubbed the table clean, and Lucas, who was becoming quite the magician himself, put a spell on the broom to sweep the floors on its own.
Marc had said he wanted to survey the property so he could get an early start on the protective spells in the morning, but Violet, the two-year-old, took his hand and insisted that he see all of her dolls right away. Unable to say no to a toddler, Marc looked at me in panic.
“It’s getting dark, anyway,” I told him. “And there are twenty acres altogether. You may as well start in the morning.”
Marc looked disappointed, but allowed himself to be guided through the house and introduced to various things like the laundry chute, the hall closet, and Violet’s turquoise-colored dresser. He answered back so politely, if confusedly with phrases like “Oh, indeed?” and “Nice to meet you,” again and again. It made me smile to see someone who was strong enough to stop Rigel Thorne look so gentle.
“Are you going to stay with us tonight?” Edmund asked me, grinning with a few missing teeth.
“You can sleep in my room!” Briana added, jumping a little. “I have an extra pillow!”
My heart gave a little inward “Awwww,” but I said, “Nah, I’d better go home. Maybe later.” My family was gone, so I lived in a rented room in town and walked to my job in the mornings. “You could get a guest bed ready for Marc, though! He’ll be staying for a little while!”
“We do have a guest room,” Lucas said, not looking up from his book. “Violet, show the nice man the guest room!”
“Uh... here!” I heard Violet struggle with the door knob and the door squeak open. Edmund ran after her.
“Violet, no! That’s my room!”
I dried my hands and tried Sandy’s room again, quietly assuring her it was just me. After a minute, she opened the door and let me in. I’d never gone in there before. Inside Sandy’s room was a king-sized bed, a fancy armoire, floor-length mirrors-- standard for a master bedroom, and painfully neat and clean. One side was clearly feminine, and the other masculine. Of course all of Rigel’s belongings would still be there. How could traces of him vanish so quickly?
From the looks of things, Sandy had merely been sitting on her bed. Her face had no tear stains. She sat down there again, and offered me a seat next to her.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, accepting the spot of mattress.
“I don’t know,” Sandy answered. “Awful, mostly. Relieved. Guilty.”
“Guilty?” I repeated, not sure if I heard that right. “What could you possibly have to be guilty about?!”
“I married him, didn’t I? I subjected our children to him. I never turned him in.”
“You didn’t know what he was--”
“I did. I didn’t know how bad it was, but I knew he wasn’t a good man. I don’t know which is worse, that the children don’t even love him, or that I don’t either.” Sandy ran her hands through her short hair. “No, the worst is that I can’t hate him either. I can’t feel happy that he’s going to be dead, or in pain. And I can’t be happy that he’s gone! For years I’ve felt relieved when he leaves, but he’s always come back. Look at all his stuff! If I move it, I’m still afraid that he’ll come back and be angry!”
“He’s not going to come back! And if by some chance he does, Marc will come and get rid of him again!” Perhaps I shouldn’t have volunteered him, but I had a high opinion of his skills. And he was nice to me. “Also, what was with that, trying to put any kind of blame on yourself?!” I added indignantly. “You are a wonderful person who is kind to everyone, and you’ve raised six wonderful children! You protected them, and they’ll need you to keep doing just that!”
At this speech, Sandy’s eyes teared up and then practically gushed, like river waters breaking a beaver’s dam after Spring rain. It was nearly midnight when I got home, but I didn’t really mind.
The next morning dawned brightly. Warm sunlight peeked through the trees as I got back to trimming the grass on the Northern end of Sandy’s property. I stopped at one point to re-sharpen my scythe and almost walked into Marc, who was coming around the corner of the house. We exchanged awkward good mornings and he asked me if I could show him the property boundaries.
This made me happy for some reason. “I would love to,” I said. Beyond the large stretch of grass that surrounded the house, next came the gardens. First there was the lovely pebble path that wound around the flower bushes and led to a delightful vine-covered arbor. Beyond that was the vegetable garden and small grove of fruit trees, and to the West there was the children’s favorite part of the garden-- the maze of tall hedges that went on for two acres. Rigel would change it up for them every few months or so-- I guess he wasn’t the worst father in the world.
Most of the gardens wrapped around the house, but after that, it was just pure forest. Marc and I had to pick our way through the underbrush for quite a while before we reached the edge. He really hated it.
“The vines keep snagging my clothes! Ow!”
I extracted him from them with my pocket clippers, trying not to laugh. “Be careful, they grow everywhere around here.”
“Why do we even need to set up protective wards, then?” Marc complained, pulling his cloak closer around him. “No one’s going to try to get through this!”
“Most people are used to it. Here we are! This post marks the edge.” I rested my hand on the white-tipped piece of wood.
“Good! Good, good.” Marc pulled a ball of string out from his pocket and tied one end around the post. “Now, I just have to wind this all the way around the border...” he trailed off unhappily. “The whole house is surrounded by forest, isn’t it?”
It took him the better part of the morning to finish just that step. I went back to my work until Sandy sent Rupert out to tell me it was lunch time. We went to go get Marc together, only to find him running back, his trousers wet to the thighs.
“Is there a supposed to be a swamp back there?” he asked, out of breath.
“No, there isn’t. You’ll find a pond here and there after it rains, but--” I began.
“Well, there’s a swamp now,” Marc said. “It keeps getting deeper, and I don’t know where it’s coming from.”
“It’s flooding?!” We retraced his steps, and sure enough, there was practically a lake, spreading out as far back as we could see.
“It will reach the house soon at this rate,” Marc said grimly, and turned to go back. “Come on. If I let my clients become homeless, they’ll throw me in a volcano!”
Marc worked quickly, making measurements and markings around the house and steps, but before he was done, we could see the water seeping closer. I stood on the porch, wringing my hands at the thought that my plants were all going to rot and die. Sandy, oddly practical, merely began moving most of the furniture, food, and bedding to the second floor. The children, rather than being scared, thought it was a good adventure and started racing miniature sailboats in their new lake. Lucas, taking his new role as the man of the house seriously, approached Marc and asked what he could do.
“Have you ever caulked anything before?” Marc asked.
“I did help Mum fix the leak in the bath.”
“Perfect. We’re going to caulk the whole house at once, and anchor it.”
“Are we going to have a houseboat, then?” Edmund asked, delighted.
“Yes, yes. Something like that,” Marc said. I don’t know how it worked, exactly, but they managed it. As the water crept up to the house, and they were just finishing the last bit, it began to rise and float. The rocking was eerie. The children just laughed, running from side to side of the house to make it sway more and more until Sandy told them to stop. We all sat on the porch and ate cucumber sandwiches, watching the water rise and the daylight grow dim.
Sandy giggled. “What a fun day.”
But, as fun and unexpected as the day was, we were yet to have another surprise. Not five minutes after she said so, we heard a voice calling out for help. Then some splashing. It was surprisingly close to the house. Marc jumped up, ready for a fight, when a man holding onto a log floated into view.
“Oh, hello!” The man said cheerfully, brushing his pale, matted hair away from his face. “May I come aboard?”
We stared at him, speechless.
“My name is Nic,” the strange, soaked man said. “At least that’s what is says on my shirt.” He showed us a name tag on the left side of his chest. “That may not be true, though. I don’t remember who I am.”
“Oh, you’re not suspicious at all, are you?” I laughed.
The man --Nic?-- re-adjusted his hold on the log. Judging from the water line on the trees, it looked to be at least six feet deep. “I have a few theories. You see, I might have been at some sort of party or business meeting and put my proper name on this tag, or I may have stolen someone’s shirt, or, quite possibly, I am just a bit of a rebel and lied about my name on the tag. I don’t remember.”
“Mom?” Briana said, her voice wavering. “Is he crazy?”
“I might be!” Nic answered cheerfully. “But I believe the term for my condition is ‘Amnesia.’”
“You have no idea who you are?” Marc asked, eyes narrowing. “Did you hit your head?”
“I think so. There’s a large lump on the back of my head, but it might not be new. I did wake up in the forest a little ways from here. Don’t know why.”
“We shouldn’t let him in, should we?” Lucas guessed.
“I wouldn’t trust me either,” Nic agreed. “But it is awfully cold.”
“You’re cold?” Violet asked, her round little eyes wide.
Nic nodded, and Violet tugged at Sandy’s sleeve. “Mom! He need to be dry and warm!”
“He does, huh?” Sandy looked at Nic for a moment. “We have extra towels, sir. You may come aboard.”
“What?” I yelped. Marc also went to her and urged her in an undertone not to trust him.
“Because you don’t trust my judgement when it comes to men?” She smiled.
Marc started stuttering. “N-no, that’s not what I meant--”
“I said nothing about trusting him,” Sandy explained placidly. “You must keep a close eye on him until we can check his story and find out who he is. But until the water goes away, I’m not going to let him drown or freeze to death.”
So that was that. We helped Nic aboard, not that Marc was happy about it. Edmund got him a cup of tea, and Violet came running from the linen closet to drop two towels on him, just to be safe.
“Why, thank you!” Nic beamed. “You are all very kind.”
Sandy made an extra sandwich for him, and it was clear to me from the way he looked at her that he was quite taken with her. This made me even more suspicious. Marc and I both watched him carefully, but all he did for the rest of the evening was pick twigs and leaves out of his hair and answer the children’s questions. He did have a large lump on his head. Marc asked him if he’d mind so very much being tied so he couldn’t do anything suspicious during the night, and Nic only said that was fair, as long as he could roll over in his sleep.
The first morning after the flood, once he was clean and dry, we found that Nic’s hair poofed out in all directions, making him look a bit like a dandelion flower. The children loved it, of course. It was no use telling them to keep away from him, not when all they could do for a half hour was push Nic’s hair down, and then let it stick up again. He became even more popular than me, sad to say, though it is ridiculous to be jealous of hair like that, isn’t it?
“All right,” Marc said firmly after breakfast was over. “My business was supposed to be over with yesterday morning, and I want to take a boat into town to see if I can help with relief efforts and ask if anyone knows you. No more distractions.” He sat down cross-legged in front of Nic on the floor. “It’s time to find out whether or not you are telling the truth.”
“How are you going to do that?” Nic asked, fascinated. Violet thought it was story time, and sat on his lap.
“I’m going to read your mind. Every officer of Magicourt has that skill.”
“You can do that?” I interrupted. “Why didn’t you do it yesterday instead of tying him up?”
Marc’s ears went a bit pink. “Because I was tired from trying to caulk and float a whole house! That takes a lot of energy, you know!”
“There, there. You did a lovely job, and I’m happy that my house is all dry.” Sandy patted his shoulder, causing Marc’s ears to turn into a deep red.
“All right, all right. Tilt your head forward a bit, if you please.” Nic did so, and Marc reached out, lightly touching his temples for a moment. “Huh,” he said.
“Is it over?” Nic asked.
“There really is nothing in your memories before yesterday.” Marc sounded surprised, and stood up. “Well, as long as you don’t turn into a bad person and bother my clients, I don’t mind leaving you here. Or would you like to come with me into town?”
“Well...” Nic trailed off. Violet had brought three storybooks to him and settled herself on his lap again. “It seems I’m already booked for the morning. If you could just ask after me while you’re there, I would be grateful.”
“I understand,” Marc said, knowing the feeling of being unable to refuse a toddler’s attention. He told us to call him if there was any trouble, and gave me an extra nod before he left, unless that was just my imagination. He summoned his own boat from thin air and paddled away.
As Violet’s stories were read, Nic was surrounded by the twins, leaning on him from either side, and then before the last one was over, Lucas, Edmund, and Rupert all came rushing in.
“I found out from this book how to summon a boat too!” Lucas said proudly.
“What? Just like Marc did?” Nic jumped up, just as excited. “Show me! Show me!”
They raced to the front porch. Lucas had a few false starts but then managed to make several sizes of boats appear. After observing him closely, Nic was able to as well.
“Are you a magician too?” Sandy asked, smiling.
“Apparently!” Nic grinned. “We’d better test out their seaworthiness, though!” He jumped in his tiny boat and paddled off with his hands. The other boys did the same. I watched them forlornly from the porch.
“You look sad, Ari. What’s wrong?” Sandy patted my back.
“All my plants are going to drown and rot,” I said glumly. “I know it doesn’t matter, but as a gardener, it’s just sad. I can’t work until the water leaves, and what if it never does?”
“Well, then we’ll just have a lot of house plants, won’t we?” Sandy laughed. “Why don’t you go out and enjoy it while it lasts? There’s an extra boat.”
“Ah! I can use that to trim some of the high branches on the trees!” I got on the boat, completely missing her point. My loppers, the tools that were meant for taking down large branches, were waterlogged in the garden shed, but I still had a small saw in my coverall pocket. It was a bit nerve wracking to stand up on the boat and climb the cotton tree, but I managed to get a few footholds and started sawing away. It was foolish, I suppose, but it would have worked nicely if the boys (Nic included) hadn’t started a game of boat cricket and accidentally hit me with the ball. I lost my grip and fell into the water with a very large splash.
I’m not a strong swimmer, so it was really thanks to Nic that I made it safely to the porch. Sandy brought us towels, trying not to laugh in between asking us if we were all right. It may have been out of habit, after ten years of looking after so many boys, but instead of just handing Nic his towel, she began drying off his head for him. He blushed at seeing her so closely, and said very quickly, and all in one breath,
“Do you have a husband and if so is he the sort that will kill me if I say you’re the most beautiful and kind woman I’ve ever seen?”
Sandy blinked. “Uh,” She seemed to be having trouble with her answer, so, growling fiercely like a guard dog, I hauled Nic away by his collar into the next room.
“Look!” I explained. “Her husband was a very nasty man who ended up getting arrested the day before yesterday! He’s not coming back, so she’s practically a widow, but that doesn’t mean you can just swim in here and take advantage of her kind heart!”
“Ohhhhhh, I see,” Nic said. “So that’s why you’ve been glaring at me this whole time. Understandable.”
I was surprised that he’d noticed. The goof was sharper than I’d thought.
“You really don’t have to glare at him, Ari,” Sandy said from the entryway. “I think I’m a little wiser than I used to be. Master Nic,” she turned towards him. “I wasn’t able to answer you, but yes, my husband was the sort to kill you, but he didn’t ever say anything that wonderful to me, not for a long time. I appreciate the compliment.”
They shared a smile, and I sighed, knowing it was no good to try and interfere anymore.
Marc returned just before nightfall with good news. He had found out who Nic really was. His name was actually Nicolas Daisy, a magician that had traveled to a convention in our town to display and sell his self-sustaining drinking fountains. “Perfect for parks, family outings, camping, garden decorations, and more!” his banner had said.
“Did I actually sell something so weird?” Nic asked, while the children roared with laughter at his having the last name of ‘Daisy.’
“Not only that, but they’re what triggered the flood,” Marc answered, getting a second helping of mashed potatoes. “Not by themselves, though. It seems one of your competitors got jealous and sabotaged your display fountain, causing it to overflow an insane amount, and,” he waved his fork. “You can see the result. He was caught in the act, however, so he’s in charge of cleaning it up on his own. You were last seen being swept away in the huge wave, and that’s probably the force that drove you into a tree or something and made you lose your memories. All of your fountains were lost in the flood, I’m afraid, but they might turn up as the water recedes. This is really delicious, Madam!”
“Did I have a home or family?” Nic asked next, not too concerned over the fountains.
“Not from the records I checked at Magicourt. You graduated from a small academy and started your business soon after that, not with much success.”
“I seem to have been somewhat useless.” Nic scratched his dandelion head.
“You can’t say that so soon,” Sandy disagreed. “As long as the fountains didn’t weigh very much or leak from their containers, it would be very handy on a family outing. I can see a market for it.”
Nic brightened noticeably at that. And since Sandy said he could stay until the water receded, stay is what he did. Over the next few days, Sandy cooked, did laundry, and even got some time to sit down and read while he played with the children. I started a few house plants and, with Marc’s help, was able to dive down and salvage some of the vegetable garden and replant them in a barrel on the porch. It wasn’t enough to really earn my keep, but Sandy wouldn’t hear of cutting my wage. So I helped her clean the bathrooms. She is not fond of bathroom cleaning.
Marc was able to finish setting up the wards around the property, since the water had become so clear, but he still asked if I would help direct him to the posts that marked the borders, and, that made me irrationally happy.
After taking down the laundry late one afternoon, Sandy walked past Nic and had to laugh when she saw how his hair was even more poofy than usual. “Perhaps you should try combing your hair,” she suggested.
“I did. Twice,” Nic answered. “I combed his hair too.” He pointed to Rupert who sat beside him, whose hair now stuck up in all directions as well. Nic held up a comb, eyes gleaming. “Now it’s your turn.”
Sandy’s eyes widened. As Nic stood up, she dropped her basket and ran around the house, laughing and screaming while Nic and Rupert --and soon the rest of her children-- chased after her. They ended up cornering her in the living room and tackling her to the floor. She put up a good fight, though she ended up with a poofy head of hair too, and laughed until she cried.
“Well,” Marc said to me in the kitchen as we watched them all wrestle loudly. “My work here is done.”
“You’re leaving? Will I ever see you again?” I asked. He looked at me, startled, and his ears started turning pink.
“Well, I’ll need to check in again in a few months, so yes. Yes, I’ll see you again. If anything happens and you need my help-- or don’t need it!-- You can call me.”
“Okay!” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but it was enough for me.
That is just about the end of the story. We all had some unexpected events in our lives, some more unhappy than others, but we did what we could and came out much better than we were before. If, however, any of you are curious as to whether or not Nic got his memories back, or if Nic and Sandy ended up getting married, and how he proposed, I’ve included a short epilogue, and it went something like this:
Nic never did get his memories back. He didn’t seem to mind, though. His new life was so much better than his old, lonely life sounded, he said. A few of his water fountains were found, and he started analyzing and tinkering around with them, wanting to make them useful, as Sandy convinced him that they could be.
It was on a day some months after the water had gone that Nic said, somewhat out of the blue: “You’re just so wonderful, Sandy... I need a ring!” and abruptly marched off into the woods. Poor Sandy was very flustered. Nic didn’t come back, nor did she hear from him for two days. She was so worried that the house became constantly spotless. As soon as she finished scrubbing and sweeping it, she had a nap and then went through the cycle all over again. I was about ready to sharpen my scythe and hunt him down when he showed up again.
Right away, he knelt down and offered her a ring.
Sandy dropped her scrubbing brush and grabbed him by the collar. “Where have you been?!”
“I had to go get a ring before asking you to marry me,” Nic explained meekly. “You really live a long ways out of town!”
“It’s only five miles that way.” Sandy pointed.
“Ohhhhh,” Nic said sheepishly. “I went completely the wrong direction. I’m sorry.”
Sandy sighed, running her hands through her hair. “I’ll marry you, but only if you promise to never, ever, ever worry me so much again over something so insignificant as a ring!”
“Okay,” Nic said quietly. “It’s really pretty, though.”
She gave up and laughed, throwing her arms around him. And yes, I can solemnly swear to you that they did live happily ever after.
The End
Rigel was a very smart magician and a keen businessman, and soon became very successful. He bought a large house in the woods, miles away from town, just like Sandy had always wanted. They had six children together, who were all very bright and active.
Sandy’s happily ever after did not last. What had been important to both her husband and herself changed gradually but oh, so drastically over the years. I’m talking about things like honor, and kindness, and honesty. He became more powerful, as magicians go, and quite feared in town. No one wanted to cross him, and he liked that a great deal. He’d always been an opinionated, assertive man, but shall we say that power --as if often does-- yet again corrupted the proud?
His wife saw the change in him, but being a very meek and easy going woman, patiently tried to keep him happy. He had quite a temper, and apparently it was her job to keep it from flaring up. She had suspicions about what kind of dealings his business had going on, and heard disturbing gossip from the marketplace, but she knew that was a subject she could not bring up with him without retribution.
You may wonder why she stayed with him, a husband who was becoming quite the underhanded villain. As their gardener, I wondered that often myself, since I couldn’t help but overhear him yell at her for nothing, insulting her, and sometimes even throwing and breaking things in his tirade. If he ever laid a hand on her, she didn’t let it show. But, villain or not, he was still her husband.
He frightened me. I was scared out of my skin that I would trim a hedge too bare and be burned to a crisp by one his spells. But Sandy I liked very much. She would often come out to talk to me while I was trimming the lilacs, or bring me cookies that she had just baked. I was over ten years younger than her and a servant to boot, but she treated me like a little sister.
They only thing they really had in common was their children. Sandy stayed for them. All six of them. Rigel was frequently gone for days at a time --on business, he said-- and so they had the house to themselves. They were a lively bunch: four boys and two girls, a set of twins amongst them, ages ten to two.
This way of life might have gone on indefinitely if the oldest boy, Lucas, hadn’t grown up to be so very stubborn. Or brave. I’m not sure which. One day, he had the gall to stand up to his own father. I was off cutting the grass, so I didn’t know what had happened until I heard screams and shouts, and when I’d come running to the French windows, I saw Lucas dangling upside down by one foot, and Rigel shouting down at him. Rigel’s left hand was up in the air, and the other had fire dancing in its palm, ready to burn away.
“I’m not afraid of you!” Lucas shouted back, folding his arms even while hanging helplessly.
“You should be!” his father snapped. “I could roast you like a piece of meat, here and now!” he looked over at the blazing fire in the hearth. “Shall I drop you in there?”
The other children started either hiding or screaming and tugging at Lucas, trying to pull him down to the floor, but Rigel’s spell held him up there.
Sandy stepped closer. “Stop it, Rigel! Put him down!”
“You’re undermining me?” Rigel gave her a glare, which should have shut her up.
“You’ve gone too far!” Tears were streaming down her face. “Please, stop.”
Her husband looked at her in disgust. “Taking their side...!” he pushed her away from him, hard enough to make her fall to the floor, and to make Lucas yell out, “Mom!”
Rigel turned back to his oldest son. “Now you listen to me--”
“I’ll call Magicourt!” My voice rang out, a strange sound. Rigel’s head twisted in my direction. I gulped. “I really will call them if you don’t stop.”
Magicourt was the police organization that stopped magical villains, if you will. To call them was very simple, and didn’t even require the use of magic, but no one called them if they could help it. Raising a false alarm was a good way to get yourself locked up for months, if not forever. They take their justice very seriously. Every child in the town I grew up in was taught how just in case, but we were also told not to use those words unless it was absolutely, no other way out, life or death emergency. Because the pain of a false alarm could in fact, be death.
Slowly, Rigel lowered his son to the floor. His fist clenched, and smoke came out. But his temper was far from cooled. He turned his full attention on me then.
“You are just like a yappy little dog that I’ve always wanted to kick,” he said.
I turned and ran.
“The kind that makes a fuss and sounds the alarm, but is really useless,” Rigel added, and took off after me.
It was like a bad dream. I couldn’t run fast enough. The ground to my left caught fire, and then the ground a few feet ahead and to the right. I went for the woods, looking for a place to hide, but knew that wouldn’t help for long. I dove under a fallen tree and yelled with my last breath,
“Magicourt! Emergency! On pain of death, Magicourt emergency!”
Just as I saw Rigel’s face come around a tree and grin when he saw me, just as the fireball left his hand-- a barrier went up, dissipating it instantly.
We were both stunned.
“Rigel Thorne,” a man’s voice above me said. “I am Marc, an officer of Magicourt. You are under arrest for Magical Misconduct.”
I poked my head out from under the log to see a tall (at least from my perspective) young man with perfectly combed hair give an imperious gesture that caused handcuffs to materialize around Rigel’s wrists.
“You will come with me now,” he said.
“This is an outrage!” Rigel bellowed.
“Yes, yes it is,” Marc agreed. “You should have been reported years ago. We’ve been looking for you for quite some time.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Rigel said, struggling against the cuffs desperately.
The young man, Marc, looked down at me, and stepped off of the fallen tree. “You are the one who called? Are you all right, miss?”
“Yes,” I started crawling out, limbs shaky. He helped me up, and made a slight face at the dirt on my hand that transferred to his own.
“You’ll be needed as a witness,” Marc informed me. “You don’t have the right to refuse, but I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said. Without any further warning, all three of us vanished, to reappear at Magicourt, the place all wizards and magicians and witches dreaded to go.
Part 2
In a tired, deadpanned voice, the Secretary of Magicourt read out the charges from a fancy scroll. “You have been summoned here on accusation of Magical Misconduct, including Domestic Abuse --don’t bother, this place is fireproof-- and Oppression of the Common folk. How do you plead?”
“What sort of trial is this? This wench is lying, and I have done nothing wrong.” Rigel ranted. I winced next to him. He still scared me, even in handcuffs.
“Not Guilty, then,” the Secretary wrote, quite unphased. “If you have been falsely accused, the ‘wench’ will be severely punished, I assure you.”
“I’m not a wench,” I muttered. As a virtuous, single maiden of eighteen, this particular insult was not one I took kindly to. I had my reputation as a respectable gardener to consider.
“This is all a lot of nonsense. Do you know who I am? I am Rigel Thorne of Asingoth!”
At this, the Secretary of Magicourt looked up. “The Rigel Thorne? The murderer at large?” He shuffled through some papers. “Oh, yes! You were also charged with murder halfway across the country a few years ago. Should I mark ‘Not Guilty’ for that as well?”
Rigel paled and set his teeth on edge. “It was a fair fight.”
I looked up at him, horrified and wishing I could stand behind the Secretary. Or Marc, the one who arrested him. Marc had left us to talk to a superior officer in another room, and I really wished he hadn’t.
“So, Not Guilty.” The Secretary checked a box on the scroll, and added, “This isn’t a trial, by the way. It’s just processing. Your trial will take place as soon as the judges are ready.”
“They’re ready, Oswald,” Marc came back to say.
“So soon? It has been a slow day, hasn’t it?” Secretary Oswald chatted, stamping some papers. “Off you go, then,” he waved us away.
“Follow me, if you would.” Marc said, turning back the way he came. Rigel made a run for the door to our left. The knob zapped him like lightning, and knocked him unconscious.
“Tch. Typical.” Marc said, and hoisted the limp man over his shoulder.“No, not you. You stay here and give your statement to the Secretary, miss. Oh,” he added in an undertone. “Don’t forget to ask about the bounty.”
“Bounty?” I repeated.
“Oh, you would bring that up.” The Secretary grumbled. “You hardly did anything, I don’t see why you should get all that money.”
“What about me? I brought him in.” Marc pointed out before leaving.
“It’s your job!” Secretary Oswald sighed. “Well, you were listening to incoming calls for two weeks straight. I’ll see what I can do.”
After giving my statement, I went in to listen to the last bit of the trial, as instructed. It was a completely dark room apart from the spotlight on Rigel, who was still sleeping, in a chair. The three judges, hidden in the dark, discussed Rigel’s fate while Marc (who I hoped I wouldn’t leave me again) and I listened.
“He’s become a somewhat prominent figure in the community, hasn’t he? And a big bully too? It ought to be something big,” one said.
“Use him as a warning? It’s hardly worked before. Having the alpha bully nabbed only gives courage to the small-fry bullies,” another scoffed.
“Let’s just concentrate on making his sentence fit his crimes,” the third intervened. “He likes burning things, right? Shall we turn that back on his head?”
“Like feeding him to a dragon?” the first suggested enthusiastically.
Rigel was starting to come to, and at that remark, began struggling against his cuffs again.
“That’s over too quickly,” the second judge pooh-poohed. “He’s been at this for years, so it ought to be something worse.”
“Like a volcano!” the first judge sounded excited.
“Exactly!” the third agreed. “Let’s roast him in a volcano. Just sort of hang his cage over it. Gentlemen, I think we’ve come to an agreement.”
You’d think they were discussing dinner plans. Rigel begged, pleaded, and threatened. There was no jury. I walked out of there shivering.
Marc and I ended up splitting the bounty for the capture of Rigel Thorne. It was not a lot of money, but more than I knew what to do with, and all I could think of was giving it to Sandy. You haven’t forgotten about her, have you? When we arrived back at her house, Marc and I walked up to the same French windows to find her furiously scrubbing the sooty floor by the hearth. When she saw me, she gasped and tackled me in a hug.
“Ari, I didn’t know what happened to you!” She squeezed me a little too tightly. “Edmund (her second-oldest boy) said he saw a man appear and take you and Rigel away!”
Marc told her that he was from Magicourt, how he’d arrested her husband, and how Rigel was wanted for murder.
Sandy nodded solemnly, wiping a tear away with the back of her sooty hand. “Is he dead now?”
“No, madam, but he is probably going to die while being imprisoned for life.” Marc glanced at me, and I shuddered, thinking of the volcano.
Sandy nodded again, almost absently. “That’s good.”
“And...” Marc trailed off uncertainly. “I’m sorry about this, but until your husband’s affairs are settled, I was appointed to be your caseworker, which means I’ll be staying around until your family is all right.”
“Oh? What affairs?”
“Well, upon sentencing, all of his spells that he was holding were cancelled out, such as all of his protections and wards around the house.”
“I thought that only happened at death.” Sandy wrinkled her nose.
“Sadly not. So it’s my job to stay and recast them for you.”
“And here,” I handed her a sack of coins. “This is for you.”
“Why, what is this?” Sandy asked.
“It’s the bounty for your husband,” Marc explained.
At once, Sandy pushed the bag back into my hands. “No, dear. I won’t take any bounty money.”
“Please take it, Sandy!” I urged. “You need it more than I do! Besides,” I added, smiling crookedly. “I want to keep my job.”
Sandy sighed, narrowing her eyes at me. “Fine. Stay for dinner, you two,” she said. “It will do me a lot of good to have some guests.”
Over a large crock of hearty beef stew, we joined Sandy and her children around their table for dinner. She sat at one end, and Marc and I were squeezed onto the bench with the twins, Bartholomew and Briana, and the youngest girl, Violet. For whatever reason, the other end of the table, the large oak chair where Rigel would sit, was left empty.
The stew was delicious and warm, and though the atmosphere was hushed, it felt so comfortable, especially with Violet sneakily dropping her peas in my bowl and grinning at me. And then, with the tact that most children possess, Briana asked “Where’s dad?”
Sandy looked at Marc and I, not quite knowing what to say.
“He’s not coming back, is he?” The oldest boy, Lucas asked, not sounding at all sad.
Sandy put down her spoon. “No. Your father is going to prison. He’s not coming back.”
“Ever?” Bartholomew asked.
“Ever.”
“YAY!” The children started cheering quite irreverently, as if all of their birthdays had come at once. Sandy winced. Quietly getting up from her chair amid all the jumping and yelling, she went to her room and closed the door behind her.
Sandy’s door was locked. When her children discovered that she wouldn’t respond to knockings and callings, they decided to start cleaning up the house. They weren’t sure why she was upset, or if they were in trouble, but they did know one thing that was sure to help. I joined the second oldest boy, Edmund, in washing the dishes. The twins wiped them dry and put them away in the cupboards. Rupert, the third oldest boy, scrubbed the table clean, and Lucas, who was becoming quite the magician himself, put a spell on the broom to sweep the floors on its own.
Marc had said he wanted to survey the property so he could get an early start on the protective spells in the morning, but Violet, the two-year-old, took his hand and insisted that he see all of her dolls right away. Unable to say no to a toddler, Marc looked at me in panic.
“It’s getting dark, anyway,” I told him. “And there are twenty acres altogether. You may as well start in the morning.”
Marc looked disappointed, but allowed himself to be guided through the house and introduced to various things like the laundry chute, the hall closet, and Violet’s turquoise-colored dresser. He answered back so politely, if confusedly with phrases like “Oh, indeed?” and “Nice to meet you,” again and again. It made me smile to see someone who was strong enough to stop Rigel Thorne look so gentle.
“Are you going to stay with us tonight?” Edmund asked me, grinning with a few missing teeth.
“You can sleep in my room!” Briana added, jumping a little. “I have an extra pillow!”
My heart gave a little inward “Awwww,” but I said, “Nah, I’d better go home. Maybe later.” My family was gone, so I lived in a rented room in town and walked to my job in the mornings. “You could get a guest bed ready for Marc, though! He’ll be staying for a little while!”
“We do have a guest room,” Lucas said, not looking up from his book. “Violet, show the nice man the guest room!”
“Uh... here!” I heard Violet struggle with the door knob and the door squeak open. Edmund ran after her.
“Violet, no! That’s my room!”
I dried my hands and tried Sandy’s room again, quietly assuring her it was just me. After a minute, she opened the door and let me in. I’d never gone in there before. Inside Sandy’s room was a king-sized bed, a fancy armoire, floor-length mirrors-- standard for a master bedroom, and painfully neat and clean. One side was clearly feminine, and the other masculine. Of course all of Rigel’s belongings would still be there. How could traces of him vanish so quickly?
From the looks of things, Sandy had merely been sitting on her bed. Her face had no tear stains. She sat down there again, and offered me a seat next to her.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, accepting the spot of mattress.
“I don’t know,” Sandy answered. “Awful, mostly. Relieved. Guilty.”
“Guilty?” I repeated, not sure if I heard that right. “What could you possibly have to be guilty about?!”
“I married him, didn’t I? I subjected our children to him. I never turned him in.”
“You didn’t know what he was--”
“I did. I didn’t know how bad it was, but I knew he wasn’t a good man. I don’t know which is worse, that the children don’t even love him, or that I don’t either.” Sandy ran her hands through her short hair. “No, the worst is that I can’t hate him either. I can’t feel happy that he’s going to be dead, or in pain. And I can’t be happy that he’s gone! For years I’ve felt relieved when he leaves, but he’s always come back. Look at all his stuff! If I move it, I’m still afraid that he’ll come back and be angry!”
“He’s not going to come back! And if by some chance he does, Marc will come and get rid of him again!” Perhaps I shouldn’t have volunteered him, but I had a high opinion of his skills. And he was nice to me. “Also, what was with that, trying to put any kind of blame on yourself?!” I added indignantly. “You are a wonderful person who is kind to everyone, and you’ve raised six wonderful children! You protected them, and they’ll need you to keep doing just that!”
At this speech, Sandy’s eyes teared up and then practically gushed, like river waters breaking a beaver’s dam after Spring rain. It was nearly midnight when I got home, but I didn’t really mind.
The next morning dawned brightly. Warm sunlight peeked through the trees as I got back to trimming the grass on the Northern end of Sandy’s property. I stopped at one point to re-sharpen my scythe and almost walked into Marc, who was coming around the corner of the house. We exchanged awkward good mornings and he asked me if I could show him the property boundaries.
This made me happy for some reason. “I would love to,” I said. Beyond the large stretch of grass that surrounded the house, next came the gardens. First there was the lovely pebble path that wound around the flower bushes and led to a delightful vine-covered arbor. Beyond that was the vegetable garden and small grove of fruit trees, and to the West there was the children’s favorite part of the garden-- the maze of tall hedges that went on for two acres. Rigel would change it up for them every few months or so-- I guess he wasn’t the worst father in the world.
Most of the gardens wrapped around the house, but after that, it was just pure forest. Marc and I had to pick our way through the underbrush for quite a while before we reached the edge. He really hated it.
“The vines keep snagging my clothes! Ow!”
I extracted him from them with my pocket clippers, trying not to laugh. “Be careful, they grow everywhere around here.”
“Why do we even need to set up protective wards, then?” Marc complained, pulling his cloak closer around him. “No one’s going to try to get through this!”
“Most people are used to it. Here we are! This post marks the edge.” I rested my hand on the white-tipped piece of wood.
“Good! Good, good.” Marc pulled a ball of string out from his pocket and tied one end around the post. “Now, I just have to wind this all the way around the border...” he trailed off unhappily. “The whole house is surrounded by forest, isn’t it?”
It took him the better part of the morning to finish just that step. I went back to my work until Sandy sent Rupert out to tell me it was lunch time. We went to go get Marc together, only to find him running back, his trousers wet to the thighs.
“Is there a supposed to be a swamp back there?” he asked, out of breath.
“No, there isn’t. You’ll find a pond here and there after it rains, but--” I began.
“Well, there’s a swamp now,” Marc said. “It keeps getting deeper, and I don’t know where it’s coming from.”
“It’s flooding?!” We retraced his steps, and sure enough, there was practically a lake, spreading out as far back as we could see.
“It will reach the house soon at this rate,” Marc said grimly, and turned to go back. “Come on. If I let my clients become homeless, they’ll throw me in a volcano!”
Marc worked quickly, making measurements and markings around the house and steps, but before he was done, we could see the water seeping closer. I stood on the porch, wringing my hands at the thought that my plants were all going to rot and die. Sandy, oddly practical, merely began moving most of the furniture, food, and bedding to the second floor. The children, rather than being scared, thought it was a good adventure and started racing miniature sailboats in their new lake. Lucas, taking his new role as the man of the house seriously, approached Marc and asked what he could do.
“Have you ever caulked anything before?” Marc asked.
“I did help Mum fix the leak in the bath.”
“Perfect. We’re going to caulk the whole house at once, and anchor it.”
“Are we going to have a houseboat, then?” Edmund asked, delighted.
“Yes, yes. Something like that,” Marc said. I don’t know how it worked, exactly, but they managed it. As the water crept up to the house, and they were just finishing the last bit, it began to rise and float. The rocking was eerie. The children just laughed, running from side to side of the house to make it sway more and more until Sandy told them to stop. We all sat on the porch and ate cucumber sandwiches, watching the water rise and the daylight grow dim.
Sandy giggled. “What a fun day.”
But, as fun and unexpected as the day was, we were yet to have another surprise. Not five minutes after she said so, we heard a voice calling out for help. Then some splashing. It was surprisingly close to the house. Marc jumped up, ready for a fight, when a man holding onto a log floated into view.
“Oh, hello!” The man said cheerfully, brushing his pale, matted hair away from his face. “May I come aboard?”
We stared at him, speechless.
“My name is Nic,” the strange, soaked man said. “At least that’s what is says on my shirt.” He showed us a name tag on the left side of his chest. “That may not be true, though. I don’t remember who I am.”
“Oh, you’re not suspicious at all, are you?” I laughed.
The man --Nic?-- re-adjusted his hold on the log. Judging from the water line on the trees, it looked to be at least six feet deep. “I have a few theories. You see, I might have been at some sort of party or business meeting and put my proper name on this tag, or I may have stolen someone’s shirt, or, quite possibly, I am just a bit of a rebel and lied about my name on the tag. I don’t remember.”
“Mom?” Briana said, her voice wavering. “Is he crazy?”
“I might be!” Nic answered cheerfully. “But I believe the term for my condition is ‘Amnesia.’”
“You have no idea who you are?” Marc asked, eyes narrowing. “Did you hit your head?”
“I think so. There’s a large lump on the back of my head, but it might not be new. I did wake up in the forest a little ways from here. Don’t know why.”
“We shouldn’t let him in, should we?” Lucas guessed.
“I wouldn’t trust me either,” Nic agreed. “But it is awfully cold.”
“You’re cold?” Violet asked, her round little eyes wide.
Nic nodded, and Violet tugged at Sandy’s sleeve. “Mom! He need to be dry and warm!”
“He does, huh?” Sandy looked at Nic for a moment. “We have extra towels, sir. You may come aboard.”
“What?” I yelped. Marc also went to her and urged her in an undertone not to trust him.
“Because you don’t trust my judgement when it comes to men?” She smiled.
Marc started stuttering. “N-no, that’s not what I meant--”
“I said nothing about trusting him,” Sandy explained placidly. “You must keep a close eye on him until we can check his story and find out who he is. But until the water goes away, I’m not going to let him drown or freeze to death.”
So that was that. We helped Nic aboard, not that Marc was happy about it. Edmund got him a cup of tea, and Violet came running from the linen closet to drop two towels on him, just to be safe.
“Why, thank you!” Nic beamed. “You are all very kind.”
Sandy made an extra sandwich for him, and it was clear to me from the way he looked at her that he was quite taken with her. This made me even more suspicious. Marc and I both watched him carefully, but all he did for the rest of the evening was pick twigs and leaves out of his hair and answer the children’s questions. He did have a large lump on his head. Marc asked him if he’d mind so very much being tied so he couldn’t do anything suspicious during the night, and Nic only said that was fair, as long as he could roll over in his sleep.
The first morning after the flood, once he was clean and dry, we found that Nic’s hair poofed out in all directions, making him look a bit like a dandelion flower. The children loved it, of course. It was no use telling them to keep away from him, not when all they could do for a half hour was push Nic’s hair down, and then let it stick up again. He became even more popular than me, sad to say, though it is ridiculous to be jealous of hair like that, isn’t it?
“All right,” Marc said firmly after breakfast was over. “My business was supposed to be over with yesterday morning, and I want to take a boat into town to see if I can help with relief efforts and ask if anyone knows you. No more distractions.” He sat down cross-legged in front of Nic on the floor. “It’s time to find out whether or not you are telling the truth.”
“How are you going to do that?” Nic asked, fascinated. Violet thought it was story time, and sat on his lap.
“I’m going to read your mind. Every officer of Magicourt has that skill.”
“You can do that?” I interrupted. “Why didn’t you do it yesterday instead of tying him up?”
Marc’s ears went a bit pink. “Because I was tired from trying to caulk and float a whole house! That takes a lot of energy, you know!”
“There, there. You did a lovely job, and I’m happy that my house is all dry.” Sandy patted his shoulder, causing Marc’s ears to turn into a deep red.
“All right, all right. Tilt your head forward a bit, if you please.” Nic did so, and Marc reached out, lightly touching his temples for a moment. “Huh,” he said.
“Is it over?” Nic asked.
“There really is nothing in your memories before yesterday.” Marc sounded surprised, and stood up. “Well, as long as you don’t turn into a bad person and bother my clients, I don’t mind leaving you here. Or would you like to come with me into town?”
“Well...” Nic trailed off. Violet had brought three storybooks to him and settled herself on his lap again. “It seems I’m already booked for the morning. If you could just ask after me while you’re there, I would be grateful.”
“I understand,” Marc said, knowing the feeling of being unable to refuse a toddler’s attention. He told us to call him if there was any trouble, and gave me an extra nod before he left, unless that was just my imagination. He summoned his own boat from thin air and paddled away.
As Violet’s stories were read, Nic was surrounded by the twins, leaning on him from either side, and then before the last one was over, Lucas, Edmund, and Rupert all came rushing in.
“I found out from this book how to summon a boat too!” Lucas said proudly.
“What? Just like Marc did?” Nic jumped up, just as excited. “Show me! Show me!”
They raced to the front porch. Lucas had a few false starts but then managed to make several sizes of boats appear. After observing him closely, Nic was able to as well.
“Are you a magician too?” Sandy asked, smiling.
“Apparently!” Nic grinned. “We’d better test out their seaworthiness, though!” He jumped in his tiny boat and paddled off with his hands. The other boys did the same. I watched them forlornly from the porch.
“You look sad, Ari. What’s wrong?” Sandy patted my back.
“All my plants are going to drown and rot,” I said glumly. “I know it doesn’t matter, but as a gardener, it’s just sad. I can’t work until the water leaves, and what if it never does?”
“Well, then we’ll just have a lot of house plants, won’t we?” Sandy laughed. “Why don’t you go out and enjoy it while it lasts? There’s an extra boat.”
“Ah! I can use that to trim some of the high branches on the trees!” I got on the boat, completely missing her point. My loppers, the tools that were meant for taking down large branches, were waterlogged in the garden shed, but I still had a small saw in my coverall pocket. It was a bit nerve wracking to stand up on the boat and climb the cotton tree, but I managed to get a few footholds and started sawing away. It was foolish, I suppose, but it would have worked nicely if the boys (Nic included) hadn’t started a game of boat cricket and accidentally hit me with the ball. I lost my grip and fell into the water with a very large splash.
I’m not a strong swimmer, so it was really thanks to Nic that I made it safely to the porch. Sandy brought us towels, trying not to laugh in between asking us if we were all right. It may have been out of habit, after ten years of looking after so many boys, but instead of just handing Nic his towel, she began drying off his head for him. He blushed at seeing her so closely, and said very quickly, and all in one breath,
“Do you have a husband and if so is he the sort that will kill me if I say you’re the most beautiful and kind woman I’ve ever seen?”
Sandy blinked. “Uh,” She seemed to be having trouble with her answer, so, growling fiercely like a guard dog, I hauled Nic away by his collar into the next room.
“Look!” I explained. “Her husband was a very nasty man who ended up getting arrested the day before yesterday! He’s not coming back, so she’s practically a widow, but that doesn’t mean you can just swim in here and take advantage of her kind heart!”
“Ohhhhhh, I see,” Nic said. “So that’s why you’ve been glaring at me this whole time. Understandable.”
I was surprised that he’d noticed. The goof was sharper than I’d thought.
“You really don’t have to glare at him, Ari,” Sandy said from the entryway. “I think I’m a little wiser than I used to be. Master Nic,” she turned towards him. “I wasn’t able to answer you, but yes, my husband was the sort to kill you, but he didn’t ever say anything that wonderful to me, not for a long time. I appreciate the compliment.”
They shared a smile, and I sighed, knowing it was no good to try and interfere anymore.
Marc returned just before nightfall with good news. He had found out who Nic really was. His name was actually Nicolas Daisy, a magician that had traveled to a convention in our town to display and sell his self-sustaining drinking fountains. “Perfect for parks, family outings, camping, garden decorations, and more!” his banner had said.
“Did I actually sell something so weird?” Nic asked, while the children roared with laughter at his having the last name of ‘Daisy.’
“Not only that, but they’re what triggered the flood,” Marc answered, getting a second helping of mashed potatoes. “Not by themselves, though. It seems one of your competitors got jealous and sabotaged your display fountain, causing it to overflow an insane amount, and,” he waved his fork. “You can see the result. He was caught in the act, however, so he’s in charge of cleaning it up on his own. You were last seen being swept away in the huge wave, and that’s probably the force that drove you into a tree or something and made you lose your memories. All of your fountains were lost in the flood, I’m afraid, but they might turn up as the water recedes. This is really delicious, Madam!”
“Did I have a home or family?” Nic asked next, not too concerned over the fountains.
“Not from the records I checked at Magicourt. You graduated from a small academy and started your business soon after that, not with much success.”
“I seem to have been somewhat useless.” Nic scratched his dandelion head.
“You can’t say that so soon,” Sandy disagreed. “As long as the fountains didn’t weigh very much or leak from their containers, it would be very handy on a family outing. I can see a market for it.”
Nic brightened noticeably at that. And since Sandy said he could stay until the water receded, stay is what he did. Over the next few days, Sandy cooked, did laundry, and even got some time to sit down and read while he played with the children. I started a few house plants and, with Marc’s help, was able to dive down and salvage some of the vegetable garden and replant them in a barrel on the porch. It wasn’t enough to really earn my keep, but Sandy wouldn’t hear of cutting my wage. So I helped her clean the bathrooms. She is not fond of bathroom cleaning.
Marc was able to finish setting up the wards around the property, since the water had become so clear, but he still asked if I would help direct him to the posts that marked the borders, and, that made me irrationally happy.
After taking down the laundry late one afternoon, Sandy walked past Nic and had to laugh when she saw how his hair was even more poofy than usual. “Perhaps you should try combing your hair,” she suggested.
“I did. Twice,” Nic answered. “I combed his hair too.” He pointed to Rupert who sat beside him, whose hair now stuck up in all directions as well. Nic held up a comb, eyes gleaming. “Now it’s your turn.”
Sandy’s eyes widened. As Nic stood up, she dropped her basket and ran around the house, laughing and screaming while Nic and Rupert --and soon the rest of her children-- chased after her. They ended up cornering her in the living room and tackling her to the floor. She put up a good fight, though she ended up with a poofy head of hair too, and laughed until she cried.
“Well,” Marc said to me in the kitchen as we watched them all wrestle loudly. “My work here is done.”
“You’re leaving? Will I ever see you again?” I asked. He looked at me, startled, and his ears started turning pink.
“Well, I’ll need to check in again in a few months, so yes. Yes, I’ll see you again. If anything happens and you need my help-- or don’t need it!-- You can call me.”
“Okay!” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but it was enough for me.
That is just about the end of the story. We all had some unexpected events in our lives, some more unhappy than others, but we did what we could and came out much better than we were before. If, however, any of you are curious as to whether or not Nic got his memories back, or if Nic and Sandy ended up getting married, and how he proposed, I’ve included a short epilogue, and it went something like this:
Nic never did get his memories back. He didn’t seem to mind, though. His new life was so much better than his old, lonely life sounded, he said. A few of his water fountains were found, and he started analyzing and tinkering around with them, wanting to make them useful, as Sandy convinced him that they could be.
It was on a day some months after the water had gone that Nic said, somewhat out of the blue: “You’re just so wonderful, Sandy... I need a ring!” and abruptly marched off into the woods. Poor Sandy was very flustered. Nic didn’t come back, nor did she hear from him for two days. She was so worried that the house became constantly spotless. As soon as she finished scrubbing and sweeping it, she had a nap and then went through the cycle all over again. I was about ready to sharpen my scythe and hunt him down when he showed up again.
Right away, he knelt down and offered her a ring.
Sandy dropped her scrubbing brush and grabbed him by the collar. “Where have you been?!”
“I had to go get a ring before asking you to marry me,” Nic explained meekly. “You really live a long ways out of town!”
“It’s only five miles that way.” Sandy pointed.
“Ohhhhh,” Nic said sheepishly. “I went completely the wrong direction. I’m sorry.”
Sandy sighed, running her hands through her hair. “I’ll marry you, but only if you promise to never, ever, ever worry me so much again over something so insignificant as a ring!”
“Okay,” Nic said quietly. “It’s really pretty, though.”
She gave up and laughed, throwing her arms around him. And yes, I can solemnly swear to you that they did live happily ever after.
The End
