The Lost and Found

It was a blur, my life was a blur, my story was a blur. Occasionally I felt I didn’t have a story, or at least not much to tell. Now, I would say I’m in a healing stage. The stage, somewhat more traumatic than what you are desperately attempting to “heal” from. I have been in this stage for over twenty years, some would say I’m just a mad old woman, with undiagnosed dementia, but really, I’m simply reminiscing about the days when my life was a life not worth anything. I was a parcel, a package which need to be shipped away. An object that was being rushed to be discarded. I was worth nothing. I am stuck in the past, my body is stuck in its old ways. I long to fly with the streams of fresh mountain air, I wish to soak myself in newly mowed grass. When the birds would sing by my windowsill and the horses would gallop free in endless pastures. When we would celebrate when rain came, and dance together until nightfall. When I was a child. When I was free.

My eyes flood with tears, but I brush them away. I gaze at myself in the reflection of a nearby puddle. My blonde hair, dull and matted. My blue eyes, now grey. My smile, a frown. Everyone always said the grass is greener on the other side, and I’m starting to believe them. In London I wished to be here, and now I’m here, I wish to be in London.

It had been three weeks since I had been sent away to live with Louise, but it felt like three years. I miss my mother, but she was gone before the war, I miss my father just as much though. I yearn to hold them close, for them to tuck me in at bedtime, read a bedtime story and kiss me on the forehead. I long to be loved again.

The journey here was just as boring as the school here in the countryside, nothing to view but endless fields of dead grass, with horses who look half alive, strolling aimlessly into this abyss.

They will become nothing but bones when the Germans arrive, if the Germans arrive. It better be soon, I wish to be put out of this misery.

“Oi!” The voice of a boy rung irksomely through my eardrums, “Why so glum?”

I glance over at him but ignore him.

“So, you’re one of them folk aren’t you,” he states. “You’re a city girl.”

“And you have a problem with that?” I turn to face him directly.

He stares coldly at me without blinking, “I do now.” He pokes his tongue out at me, then disappears into the bushes. 

My harsh expression turns quizzical. I’ve heard that voice before, I’ve seen those eyes before. I’m sure of it. I swiftly snap myself out of it, I must have been hallucinating. I would have never allowed myself to be in the presence of a person so devoid of manners. Although I tell myself I shouldn’t dare follow that wretched boy into the bushes, my curiosity gets the better of me and I begin to trail behind him.

Ducking behind a tree every minute or so, I grow closer to the boy, watching as he clambers through the shrubbery, occasionally jumping and ripping a leaf or two from the foliage. Just when I think he couldn’t possibly go any farther away from where I met him, I look up and see he’s walking right toward it, toward Louise’s cottage. We must have circled.

Just as I take a step forward, a twig underneath my foot snaps, creating a provoking *crack*. I freeze, praying the boy didn’t hear anything. He pauses, and without turning around he speaks, “I know you have been stalking me, city girl.”

I open my mouth to speak but he interrupts, “Don’t make excuses, I would expect it from you anyways.” He inhales, “You’ve always been so nosey.”

“What on earth is that meant to mean,” I think. “He doesn’t even know me.”

Suddenly a pain shoots through my head and I fall to my knees.

I was at home, with mother and father, but I wasn’t being hugged and kissed. There I was, slumped in the corner. I looked down and laying in my lap was the slingshot my brother made for me. Before I knew it, father was storming toward me, pulling my brother by his wrist, “Look Stanley, you are a bad influence on your little sister.” Father grasped the slingshot and snapped it. “Dad please,” Stanley cried. “It’s too late,” Father proclaimed. “They are waiting outside.”

I gasp, blood pounding through my temple. My palms clammy and my hair dripping with sweat, I open my eyes. Blurred figures fade into my vision, and as soon as it clears, I soak in my surroundings. Louise is seated at my side, holding a damp cloth to my forehead, muttering words I can’t comprehend, for my hearing seems to not yet be aroused.

The door swings open, and the boy comes parading in, but Louise shoos him away, “Don’t waste your breath Stanley, I don’t want to hear it.”

Stanley.

He leaves the room, but I call for him and Louise shakes her head, “I’ll be back in a jiffy, just replacing this water.” She hurries out carrying the bowl on her hip.

He stands awkwardly at the foot of my bed. “What do you want?” he snaps.

“Stanley?”

For a split second the glare in in his eyes soften, but it darkens as swiftly as it came.

“You know who I am,” I sense a glimmer of hope. “Don’t you?”

He frowns, reaching to scratch his chin, “I don’t recall so.”

The feeling of hope drains out of me.

Suddenly, Louise appears from behind the doorframe and hustles him out of the room, “She needs her rest, boy.” He flashes one last look at me before exiting the room.

Time ticks away and dusk begins to paint the skies. I stare into the shadows, the day swimming in my mind. Something churns inside of me, the thought that he could be my—what was I thinking, he would remember me, it must just be a coincidence. Maybe this person who seems a lot like my brother was brought into my life as a consequence for not preventing those men from taking him away.

My eyes flutter closed, and I snuggle into the covers, drifting off into a deep slumber. My tranquillity is disturbed when a tumultuous clammer comes from the front patio of the cottage. I sit up and fling myself out of my bed. I rapidly slip my slippers and gown on and whisk briskly down toward the disturbance.

Just as I reach the source, an arm reaches across my chest, preventing me from taking a step further. I look to see who would do such a thing, but as soon as I clap eyes on them, I gasp, my palm slamming over my mouth. It is father.

I try to embrace him, but he steps out of reach and toward the front door, where two men in suits are pacing. “Hurry this up sir,” one mumbles to my father. I recognise these men. I scan the foyer and catch eye contact with Stanley. I knew it.

I rush toward him, but father pulls me back. “Daisy,” he whips me around to face him, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I push myself away from him. “Harder?” Blood rushes to my cheeks, “For who exactly?”

He begins to speak but I interrupt. “I am sick and tired of always having to sit back and watch you destroy your own son, my brother,” I look over to Stanley. “What has he ever done to deserve this?”

Father lowers his gaze, clenching his jaw.

“How many times does it take for you get it through your head that you have no good reason to continually send Stanley away,” I continue. “And you expect me to just sit there and watch.”

“Well, that’s what it seemed like to me,” Stanley mutters under his breath.

I hesitate, “What are you taking about?” I turn to my father who is rocking back and forth on his heels, he only does that when he’s trying to— “What did you tell him. Father?” I question, my voice trembling.

His eyes flicker to Stanley, and then to me. “Daisy,” his voice breaks. He leans back on the doorframe and places his head in his hands. “After your mother passed, I couldn’t take Stanley’s mess ups any longer. I turned to the most efficient alternative for sending him away permanently, which was Hudgenson School for Troubled Boys.”

“Then when the war started, he took the easy way out, officially signing me into the custody of the school,” Stanley snickers. “But then, we got split up, being whisked away to the country.”

Suddenly the puzzle pieces begin to slide perfectly together, “But once you discovered that I had been sent to the same home as Stanley, you plotted to take him back to London. That’s why you came tonight.”

“Look sir,” one of the men speaks. “We really don’t have time for this.”

Father thanks them and waves them off, “I will take him there personally.” He gestures to Stanley, “Tomorrow at noon, I expect you to be packed.” With that he nods to Louise and disappears into the night.

I hesitantly walk toward Stanley and wrap my arms around him. He pauses before giving in and embracing me, carving into each other’s hearts the silent idea that everything will be okay.

I toss and turn, tangling myself in the covers for the little remainder of the night. Soon, light creeps through the windowpanes, rousing me from my partially non-existent siesta. I waste no time before darting across the hall to Stanley’s room. I put my fist to the door to knock, but it creeks open on its own.

Sprawled out on his bed lie his belongings, and at the foot rests a rather large briefcase. I shake my head in disbelief, “So you are really going to give into him?”

A squeal comes from the closet and Stanley emerges, “You frightened me.”

“That screech is what should’ve frightened you!” I laugh, “You sounded like a little girl!”

His smile fades and he asks what I suggest he do, since there is no escaping Father at this point, he’s arriving in less than an hour.

“Run away,” I shrug my shoulders, “Just me and you. What can we lose?”

He bites his lip, pondering, “I don’t see why not... but—”

I jump up in the air, “Then it’s sorted,” I sprint back to my room, grinning from ear to ear.

Before we know it, Stanley is plying his window open, and we are clambering out into the field below.

We run across the pastures, among the horses, who now seem to have put on some weight, and the grass somehow seems more alive. We fly through the forest, through the singing bluebells, soaring amongst the shamrock green trees, dancing in the breeze. We are free.

Laughing we collapse on the riverbank of a nearby stream. Stanley takes my hand in his, “Thank you, sis.”

Raindrops begin to splatter against the water, bouncing along with the currents. I drink in the humidity, running my fingers through my hair. I look over toward Stanley, who is now sitting upright. The rain grows harsh, and we move to take cover underneath a willow tree.

Its extended, elegant branches “weep” into an arch, fabricating a canopy that grazes the ground softly. Its slender leaves, a deep malachite, with silvery undersides create an illusion of a valuable gemstone. It shares no less care or worries than a newborn baby. I long to be this willow tree.

The wind picks up and I hold my curls close to prevent it from becoming matted, “Where do we go now?” I ask.

“London,” he states pragmatically.

I raise my eyebrows, “Isn’t it being, you know,” I pause, “bombed?”

Stanley smiles and shakes his head, “Daisy, I’m just messing with you. You really think I would take us back to London?”

I exhale a sigh of relief and ask him where we are going. He clasps my hand and takes a deep breath, leading me back down toward the riverbank, where Louise is stood, beaming up at us.

“To ensure we don’t get caught together,” Louise speaks, “You both cut through the field, and I will meet you with a carriage on the other side.”

I look back up at Stanley who is already on his way toward the field, “Are you coming?”

I rush toward him with my arms open wide, the cool air brushing against my cheeks as I run. Without contemplation I speak, “I guess the grass really is greener on the other side.”

That was my story. Maybe I do have a story, well it’s more like a tale. The tale of a brother and his little sister, full of misunderstood quarrels, but the adventure that neither of us would ever allow to depart from our hearts. For on that very day, the statement that everything will be okay was engraved into our souls. Never to be lost, forever in our blood. Adventure is built into our bones.