Positively, absolutely, and undeniably ruthless – the words of Mrs. Reynolds. Inside the Reynolds estate, pounding shook every floor on the morning of Vivi’s birthday. The staff made the mistake of polishing the hardwood without taking account of their own bruised knees and broken glassware the next day. Fresh peonies painted the entry hall leading back to an array of cakes, fruits, and baked ham spread on the spring china decorating the sunroom’s white wicker tables. The room featured broad floor-to-ceiling windows dressed in airy drapes set behind buffet tables holding a king’s quantity of coffee, tea, and orange juice (for the children). During the hushed hurry of party preparations, two school-age children sat in the front parlor, soaking up the morning light.
“There’s something criminal about our current coziness Vivi, but this storm of servitude won’t last much longer.”
Just a bit longer. Since dawn, the stairs squeaked and ached, for the rushing feet of “servitude” bade always apply haste to Mrs. Reynolds’ instructions nor disrupt her rigid expectations. Homer assured Vivi from their cushion in the front parlor like he did every morning of their mother’s events, and birthdays scrambled the eggs of any tepid chicken. Mother flew across the corridors, an astounding gait. Her words soared through the rooms, addressing every inch of uncertain movement her staff presented. A hurried woman with a tone firm yet impressive; nothing but smooth and eloquent sentences left her tongue. Mrs. Reynolds swept by the parlor to address her children.
“Homer, my darling. Please take Vivi to the baker for her birthday pastry. Make haste, as guests arrive promptly at 10, and I need both of you to greet them.”
Homer’s vacant stare ceased with his mother’s entry.
“Yes, Mama!”
Jumping from the sofa, he readied himself and Vivi in their spring coats and hats. His muted green garments contrasted nicely with his small sister’s lavender and cream.
“Are we to get an apple raisin crisp, Homer?”
“I’ll make sure of it,” said Homer with a wink and hand, leading Vivi down the front porch steps.
Springtime in the neighborhood took cadence in its soft colors, cool breeze, and the residents’ love for basketry. Everybody seemed to require a woven basket for any sort of activity. Baskets for groceries, baskets for flowers, baskets for sewing supplies, baskets for travel. Homer strode down the roadway toward the bakery, his sister’s hand in his. His mind wandered to his seafaring eldest brother who took to nautical pursuits after attending university. Homer knew his soul wanted an adventure. He saw himself chasing after a clever conman through the streets. He pictured himself pacing his neighborhood, scouting the populace for spies. He could go about the lovely pathways of his town reading poetry in the day. Then search libraries, solving cold cases at night. All manner of clients would come to him asking for his guidance, his quick wit, and his sharp eyes. Would he harbor time for a family with such a pursuit? His brother settled a year ago and his wonderful stories of sea travel and political ventures turned to stale tales of rosemary bushes and the neglectful paper boy. His mind traveled far and wide, and his eyes glazed over as the township sights danced before him. Eventually, a dog’s bark shook his catatonic attention, and he looked down to realize his hand empty. In a panic, Homer turned to see a flash of lavender disappear several yards behind him.
“Vivi!” Homer shouted to the fleeting figure of his sister.
He set on the chase instantly, running toward the place he saw her disappear. He looked to his left and saw the bakery but no Vivi. His head spun, his eyes racing from face to face amidst the busy cobble street. Then, the ribbon of her straw hat caught his eye on the other end of the street, and he saw the back of his little sister dissolve into the shadow of an alley. His footsteps barely touched the ground as he followed her into the alleyway. He called to her but arrived at a vacancy. He walked further down the side street until he came to a three-way division. Someone grasped his arm.
“Hurry up, H!”
Homer’s insides leapt. His head shot around and up to a broad figure in a long coat (strange for mild spring air). He tried to protest but the words failed to resound as his assailant pulled him off the main alley and behind a tall pile of crates.
“You find her?” The man said in earnest, shielded by a hat and snug scarf.
“W-who?” Homer stumbles over his question and only thinks to add, “Why are you wearing a coat in spring?”
The man began to respond to the first query but then appeared stumped by the following.
Looking offended, “I..” he faltered, “must keep ambiguous, obviously.”
He continues, “H, why haven’t you found her; you’ve been lurkin’ for days on this case?”
Homer’s body went numb from the surmounting questions.
“Who’s H?”
The man rolls his eyes.
“Man, did you hit your head or something?”
Homer’s vision of Vivi vanishing into the alleyway shocked his system back into proper thought.
“My sister is missing; please help me find her? She’s wearing a cream dress with-“
“H, you’re busted or somethin’. I thought you got her?” He looked around uneasily.
“I’ll save your hide just this once.”
With this, he tugged on his hat and started out down the main alleyway. Homer followed, sparklers in his stomach and sand in his brain. The two began sprinting, leaping over garbage, spare crates, sleeping cooks, and bins. Homer’s aching legs and sweat-drenched shirt weighed heavy on him, but he found the adrenaline spiking and his eyes sharpen as the two set on the chase. A cold breeze picked up as the they made it to a main street. Homer scanned the scene in a flash and signaled to the man.
“She’s not here.”
They set out down the street and jumped back into a side way. In the back of his mind, Homer wondered why the streets seemed so vacant, and why his vision seemed slightly tunneled. He put the thought away as they passed through another main street, scouted the surroundings, and dove back into the shadows. Eerie silence broken by distant dog barks echoed in Homer’s head. Winding deeper through the alleyways the man pointed to a small figure up ahead.
“There she is!”
Homer squinted to see his sister sitting on a crate in the distance. They slowed to stop, taking a moment to catch their breath. Vivi sat, swinging her legs and eating a apple raisin crisp. She looked over to them with a plain expression.
“Where on earth have you been, Vi?” Homer gasped.
“Bakery,” Vivi said, taking another bite of the soft pastry.
“The bakery? But I checked and you were nowhere to be found. We had to run for ages to catch up to you!”
“We?” Vivi asks.
“The…wait – I don’t know his name.” Homer turned around only to find a fading ray of sunlight brightening a bare alleyway. He began to hear noise coming from the main street close by.
“There was a man who searched with me. Where’s he gone?”
“Was there?” Vivi looked at her brother keenly.
He caught her, “What? There was! Besides, why did you wander off anyways?”
“I didn’t. You ran off, so I went in to get my treat and waited for you in the shade.”
Homer, astounded, tried to think back to the moments before he lost her.
“I just remember walking from the house, stopping a little past the bakery, seeing you
walk away into the alley and disappear, I chased after you, and then the man spooked
me.”
“Daydreaming again?”
“Perhaps,” Homer frowned in deep thought, “but there was something else that made me so very worried.”
“Oh! The party!”
Written by Kayla Harper
Image credit
Owl Things Considered 