Dumplings, Deceit, and a Drowning Girl

"Grandma, I must leave! I must hear what they have to say.

"No. You're not going! What if you are apprehended?

"The town is having a meeting! I'm permitted to attend! As much as the next person, I want to know who is murdering these girls. My pal was one of them.

Bloom was standing in the kitchen, shaping bread dough for dumplings, her voice rising with each syllable of their disagreement, after Sarelle had asked her granddaughter over for supper.

"I am capable of caring for myself. To hide from view, I'll put on a hood. Rory, Finn, and Julian will accompany me. In an attempt to change her grandmother's mind, she threw in the names like a last-ditch appeal.

Sarelle's look was tight as she pursed her lips. "Well."

Bloom took advantage of the moment. "Grandmother, I'll be alright. I'll be fully protected with all these powerful guys around me."

Sarelle sighed with exhaustion. "I simply don't want you to suffer harm once more. They will accuse you of heinous crimes.

Bloom forced a smile that held, despite its fragility. "Gramma, I've grown up. Stones and sticks. I'll be alright.

"Alright, you can go."

Her smile got bigger and more sincere. "You know I would have gone anyway."

Under her breath, Sarelle complained, "So, where is Rory? In any case, I would have been here for our weekly meal in a few days. Why this evening?

Sarelle shuffled about the kitchen, avoiding the eyes of her granddaughter. "When he wasn't here, I wanted you here. You know how Rory rambles on, and I need to talk to you. He's a sweetheart, but I have to be careful what I say to him.

A slight smile tugged at Bloom's lips as she softened. "You don't have to get me to chat by offering me meals. What's going on?"

"It’s about your mother."

As she slipped the casserole with chicken and dumplings into the oven, Bloom's ears pricked up. Grandmama didn't talk much about her folks. The only history Bloom had clung to was that her father had been a chef and her mother had been a maid at some far-off castle.

"You’d better sit down."

She was unprepared for the demand. Her grandma only insisted on sitting for news that was so serious it could make you gasp. Of fact, Bloom never fainted, but Grandmama measured things that way. Bloom had never witnessed Sarelle's uneasy habit of twisting her apron in her hands as she dropped onto the sofa and watched her settle across from her.

"What is it?" she said, her tone firm in spite of the glint of discomfort. "Grandmama, what’s wrong?"

Sarelle inhaled deeply. "Well, I was looking over the pictures I had painted of you and Rory when you were younger when I arrived home today. I thought of the night you were brought to me when I realized how little you looked like us. I thought it would be best to tell you—"

"Grandmama, what is it?" Bloom pressed, growing more concerned.

Years of secrets weighed heavily on Sarelle's exhale. "Your mother was not my daughter."

As the words hit Bloom like a stone, he blinked. "My father is, then?" Puzzled as to why her grandma had always maintained otherwise, she seized at the prospect.

Sarelle, however, shook her head. "Your father and I never met. I wanted to keep you safe, but I should have told you this a long time ago. However, it appears that things aren't going as planned.

The air was dense about Bloom as she sat in startled quiet. "You'd better explain, in my opinion. Please.

Before she started, she saw the mother who had raised her so lovingly take another reassuring breath.

"On a rainy night nineteen years ago today, someone knocked on my door. Rory was only nine at the time, so I had just put him to bed. I was curious as to who could be outside in this kind of weather.

"A young woman was standing there with her cloak's hood drawn up, revealing only her mouth, as I opened the door. You were a small bundle in her hand. Who else could she be? I thought she was your mother. She replied, "People were after you and wouldn't look here," and asked if I would safeguard her child. I said I would. She told me to keep an eye out for strange, inexplicable happenings around town before she went. That's how you'd know you were in danger.

I took care of you, reared you, and introduced myself as your grandma. Until now, there had been no indication of difficulty, and I never saw or spoke to her again. These tales of females your age going missing and then being discovered dead in peculiar ways I believe someone is trying to find you.

There was a deep, total silence. Bloom merely gazed, her life's basis collapsing beneath her.

Her voice was a thread when she finally questioned, "Did she leave a name—anything?"

"Liliana Elaina Hurlstone."

Hurlstone. It was hardly surprising that the name had no meaning for her. Time itself seemed to have stopped, and she felt numb. As she saw Sarelle get up to get the casserole, she ignored the shrill, insistent buzzing of the oven timer.

Sarelle rose up and murmured, "I'm sorry, Bloom," her voice cracking. "I know I should have informed you sooner, but I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge that I had lied to you for so long—not when I was trying to educate you that lying was bad. I didn't believe it would make a difference. She bowed her shoulders and turned to face the oven.

Bloom sat motionless, thinking. She understood she was correct. Other than the fact that I am unaware of my parents' identities, it is irrelevant. I never really did, though, did I? It has no bearing on my feelings for her or Rory.

She got up, walked across to the kitchen, and embraced her grandmother. She whispered, "It's all right, Grandmama." "I still adore you. I'm still attending that meeting, too. I appreciate you telling me.

Sarelle smiled tearfully. "Dear, I never once thought you wouldn't. I also adore you. How about we have dinner now that we've finished our confessions?

As they ate in silence, their discourse fell into patterns they were accustomed to. However, Bloom was plagued by questions as she made her way home. Really, who were her parents? And why was she being sought after now?