A Winter's Storm

Charlotte’s Perspective:

Months pass as Fall turns to winter and snow falls. The Christmas spirit filling the home as decorations have already gone up, but we’re still a few weeks from the actual celebration. Our tree remains bare in Father’s Study at this time.

Mrs. Killeen has taken down the drawings we all wished upon and I got my drawing of my classmates and I swimming with the Halfmoon Betta Fish back, while Sasha receives her drawing of everyone with butterfly wings and flying over the rooftops. “This was fun.” My sister mouths to me from across the room, holding up her picture.

I nod, but what I am worried about is Papa, he lacks any sort of imagination, and has always been stern about that. He denied my claim to have actually done what I said I did, I fear taking this picture home, but I know my Mama will love it, and she’ll be picking us up today.

The day comes and go during class, Sasha and I are awaiting Mama to pick us up, she comes and is as soft spoken as usual, but smiles at the drawing Sasha did a few weeks ago and I show her mine, when she frowns.

“Mama, why is Papa so admit that I didn’t see that?” I think that’s what she is thinking, but it’s unlike her to frown.

She pulls away from the school and dives us home in silence, even though I urge her, she remains mute, “Mama, I saw that.” I state again and she tells me to hush.

“Sasha,” I turn to her, “I even saw that, I saw your wish come true.”

“I said hush Charlotte.” Mama is stern and rises her voice even, using my full name. “Don’t speak further on the matter.”

I close my self off a little to my Mama that day, and my willingness to share things with either of them closes to. Something telling me the way they’re acting is wrong. Who they are are wrong, a parent shouldn’t be so dismiss and trample upon their own daughters creativity.

We get home and Papa is still at work, while Mama gets busy in the kitchen with cooking tonight's meal.

Sasha and I head to our room upstairs while snow begins to fall. Placing my drawing on my desk next to my bed, I pull out some cards from the upper drawer and we do games with one another when Mama comes upstairs to our room with a box. “Girls, want to help me decorate the tree?”

A rare occasion where we can enter Father’s Study when he’s not around, we both nod and smile at the thought, “Sure,” the two of us giggle in unison.

Leaving our room, she leads us down the long hall, a bathroom is on the right, while a second door on the left, leads to our parents master room, the first being a closet which contains decorations and other random stuff that doesn’t go anywhere else in the house or is no longer used.

Yet, at the end of the hallway, a door that will lead to a grand staircase, and down into the largest room of our entire home. “Sasha, get the door for your mother.” Mama says to her and she grabs the handle, turning it and we head inside.

We’re at the top of a balcony that over looks the interior. I’ve hardly ever get the chance to come in to his study this way, so I look around. The subsequent arches that line the walls, and the two story window panel that over looks the backyard is beautiful from here, and the moon’s ray gleaming in the night skies filters into the room, but clouds cross it’s path, dampening the glow as Mama flips a switch and the two chandlers that hang over the sides of the staircase bloom to light.

Sasha and my Mama make their way down the stairs but I pause turning to my left along the railing that overlooks the Study and seeing rows of canvas painting that are stacked against the wall beneath an inlaid bookshelf that contains many books. To my right, much the same but a glass doorway leading outside to a balcony encased in white metal bars that has a table and chair for two at. Against the back wall are more inlaid shelves with books on them.

I approach the paintings as the ones that are out front are of two people ice skating, they look to be in their late twenties, a man and woman. I can hear echos of their laughter, when I hear a crack.

Movement begins to happen as I watch the two skate when a crack forms in the ice, and I direct my attention at the next one as if something bad is going to happen. Those sounds quickly dwindle as I hear the ghostly wail from the canvas next to it. I’m frighten by this one as I can hear the burning of fires, and the roaring of winds, a huge skeleton on a cloud, a figure eight before it as ghost look to be churning within the figure eight…I see five bodies lying around the ground, as if taken from a different painting and then, in the corner, abreast a cloud, a baby bundled in pink cloth.

“Charlotte!” My Mama has come back up stairs and grabs my arm, “Come along now.

I stare back at the paintings, “I thought they where moving, I thought I saw…”

Mama stares at me, and I know to hush. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she leads me downstairs, to where Sasha has already opened one of the boxes and has gotten out some of the ornaments. Lights already on the tree, she plugs them in and they turn on while I hang my head low and go to my Papa’s ornate wooden desk with papers and other stuff on top as I sit down on the swiveling chair, annoyed with my Mama.

She doesn’t notice as she drop my arm at the bottom of the steps and walks over to the fireplace, prodding the embers of the fire from the day before for any embers of life and when she finds them, she adds another log from a small stack of wood that sits by the bench on the risen brick fireplace before grabbing another one of the chairs so that she can stand on while they decorate the tree and she notices my crude behavior as I spin on the chair and look outside, an ominous feeling welling up inside of me as the moon has all but vanished because of darken clouds.

Lightning strikes outside causes us to scream as the power goes out in the house and a few bulbs on the tree, shatter. Mama drops the chair and ruses to try and protect Sasha from the shattering glass as she quickly pulls her away from the tree and she calls me over to the fireplace, her stern face changing to one of worry over the matter of moments as the fire casts shadows on her face.

Standing and acknowledging my Mama’s whim I walk over to them as she is looking over my sister for any cuts from the glass that shattered. She looks unharmed and I asks if I should go back to my room to get the playing cards since we’re without electricity. She nods, “I’ll grab a flashlight,” She smile and walks over to the desk as I leave the room.

“It’s warm here so I’ll wait.” Sasha adds as she remains where she is at, sitting in front of the fireplace. Leaving the room I pick up the cards off the floor and stack them neatly before leaving my room and head back to the study, entering the room and stepping down the grand staircase, lighting strikes again and I see a tall and white beast, that flashes outside the two story window. It looks to have a horn and wings as it is gone the next second. In awe I drop the playing cards which scatter, on and over the banister of the staircase and rush over to the window I begin pointing. “Mama, look at that horse...it has wings and a horn.” With another strike of lightning, the beast remains now, a larger then average horse, with a white body and white wings and a zig-zag horn turns it’s head and stares inside, as if looking for something. My sister looks towards the window as well and her face lights up, rushing over to me.

“It’s so pretty, it looks like it can fly. It’s as white as the snow.”

“Girls! Stop making up stories there is nothing out there.” The beast looks directly at my mama now as on one of the upper window plains has fog forms from the creature as it breaths and my Mama looks at that, then squints her eyes. Her eyes widening.

“What is that…” Another lightning strikes the ground just outside as both my Mama and Sasha scream while the side door blows open from outside. While I marvel at it, looking towards the ground, but there is too much snow to tell whether it left hoof prints or not. “Did you guys just see that, it looked like a pegasus, some mythical creature…”

My Mama eyes widen as she goes to close the outside door that just opened. “Stay here girls.” The opposite door downstairs now open as the lights shutter before coming back on and we look around, my Papa just now walking into his study frowning.

“What are you all doing in my study?”

My mother scrambles past my Papa without a word and up the stairs as she looks though canvases that my Papa has painted. Coming back down the stairs with one of them in her hands and stares out the window again.

“Dear…” she struggles to speak as she hands the canvas to Papa, “I think this just happened…”

I rush around my Papa so I can see the painting, it’s of a Pegasus in the snow outside a large window as a girl stands at the top of the steps much like this room. Outside lightning strikes the pegasus horn and rains down around it. But I also see the black scribbles over the painting.

“Now even your talking non sense, do you all need to go to an asylum?” He storms over to the fireplace and tosses the canvas in, “all of you leave my study!” I see his face redding but he remains calm, though I know he’s mad.

“We saw this!” I yell and he spins, as I rush up to him, behind him as his hand strikes my cheek and I fall to the floor with a busted lip. Glaring at him.

He pauses, staring at his hand as if he didn’t mean to hit me, then yells, “Leave!” Mama goes to grab Sasha and hurries over to me, taking my hand before we head out the downstairs doorway as we hear cursing from within the now closed door and storming up the steps.

“He doesn’t believe anymore?” I utter. I hear crashing coming from behind the close doors as I get the feeling Papa is throwing the rest of his painting into the fireplace.

Mama continue to tow us away from the door and down the hall. “Eustace was once believed...”

Biting my lower lip, trying to prevent the blood from oozing out, I think I understand my papa a little more.

Eustace’s Perspective:

I stare at my hand, the very one I used to just hit Charlotte out of reaction, rather then intentional. It’s shaking as I clench my fist and rush up stairs, with little care, I start tossing all the paintings, all these childhood dreams of mine over the railing as they land hard onto the wooden floor beneath a story down and I know there are going to be dents in the floors because of this, but I just don’t care anymore.

These dreams of painting aren’t going anywhere, and my daughter keeps seeing this shit, keeps wanting them to be real, and they just aren’t.

I pick up one that’s just a pencil sketch before I scribbled over it a dragon’s head, I had envision it to be this multiple canvases work, from head to tail. I only started the head, but couldn’t see past the green flames from that painting, from that nightmare. I stare at it as it’s the last one that I need to toss over the edge, that those that have already fallen to the ground I can shove into the fireplace.

I pick up the painting, of Death with the infinity symbol on it as I stare and the Grim Reaper’s eyes as they light up and he turns and looks toward the cloud with my baby in it, with my Daughter.

“You will not have her!” I yell loudly about to throw it as the five bodies arise in the painting of my friends. They say nothing but stare at me.

I just can’t, I can’t destroy this painting…

I shove it back against the wall, so it’s canvas is hidden, so it’s animated pictures that I’m hallucinating can’t temped or tease me.

Practically stumbling down the stairs, I know what I am doing is foolish, it doesn’t make sense, but I pick up the individual paintings, not caring for what I had painted on them, as I know the first one I picked up is the one of my parents, before they died…them skating on the ice and toss that into the fireplace. The others follow as I have silent tears streaming down my cheeks.

I stare back up at the painting that I left, that I didn’t purge myself of. Struggling to think, to even breath though my rage I say quietly before I head to my desk to think, and to smoke some tobacco. “You will never have her.”

Muriel’s Perspective:

This all feels familiar, like he just lost his parents all over again, walking away from his study, with Sasha and Charlotte in hand I recall…

Eustace rests his head on my lap as I pat him, his eyes red from crying, he’s finally fallen asleep, but what happened is horrible. I’m only a few years older then he, and our families are long time friends and now he’ll be living with us, his parents having died due to falling into the ice while skating last night. He doesn’t understand that they died and thinks he helped saved them with the help of Santa Clause. His story from yesterday about how our parents are Santa gets to me, how he thinks they where saved by his own parents, I’m not sure.

“Santa came with Cookies—their dog—but he was larger and pulling his sled, Santa got us back to the lake in time to rescue mother and father from the lake.”

My own father shouting at him, “They died Eustace, they’re at the morgue now and we’ll be burying them in the ground in a few days, and because of their lack of tact we’re now stuck with you!”

My mother is quiet, and doesn’t argue with my father while I stare up at him, covering Eustace’s ears. “He’s not old enough to understand that.”

His friend died, yet he’s angry, I don’t understand that… “Wait outside while your mother and I talk about this…”

We do, I lead him outside while my parents hash it out and I’ve been listening to them while Eustace rests his head on my lap.

“He can’t seriously think some fat jolly old man came to save his parents…”

“He’s just trying to understand the situation in the only way he can, we need to play along until he’s ready to acknowledge his parents death.”

“They’ll be buried in the ground in a few days, his imagination can’t continue to cover for what really happened.”

I begin crying myself as I stare down at him, like a kid brother, we’ve played together and get along really well, our families going to the same church, we enjoy eachothers company but I feel so bad for him, even worse is that he has to now grow up with my family, and my father hasn’t ever been kind to him, I think he may be jealous.”

“If he’s here, I’m raising him like Arnold, he’ll join the military, he’ll be upstanding and proud.”

“We should raise him like his parents would, in their stead, they aren’t fond of the Great War, and with how things stand, this next one could be way worse.”

“He’ll have to be ready then, in my household he’ll be a military boy. It’s the only job for a person who want’s to be great.”

Eustace stirs as the door opens and I stare up at my father as he leaves, and my mother comes shortly after, leaning down and picking up Eustace.

“Head to bed Muriel, I’ll take care of him for now, we’ll make the proper arrangements come morning, just don’t think about it, this is all just a nightmare…”

“For him,” I answer my mother, staring at her as she looks tired. They both seem to care more about themselves then Eustace, they care about how this affects them, and not how he’s going to be affected because of this loss.

Shepherding my Daughters into the kitchen, I grab a paper towel and run some water on it while Charlotte is still breathing heavily, clearly mad at her Father. Sasha rest on the counter, a beach seat stretched behind it where her legs rest as I turn Charlotte towards me, “calm down, he has reason to be like this.”

“He hit me though…”

“It wasn’t intentional, your father would never hit you, believe me. He’s very kind.”

“Mama why was he so mad? He gets mad, but I’ve never seen him like this.”

I continue dabbing Charlotte’s lip until it’s no longer bleeding and try to pick up with the night’s activities I was planning for them. “Charlotte, Sasha, I’ll tell you about your Father, but lets make some cookies while where at it, we can offer them to him afterwards as an apology.

“I’m not apologizing to him, we saw that.”

I stare at Charlotte awhile, the cut lip, the red bruise on her cheek. But I turn, grabbing the pans we’ll be needing, and the ingredients from the fridge. As I’m searching through a drawer for the cook book, I speak.

“Your father has told me about a fairy tale told from generation to generation in their family. And admittedly, we have a similar one, my side of the family. Seems the story skipped a generation or two…”

This lights the eyes if my daughters as they both look at me, “A legend?” In unison they say.

“Yes, while the story differences in both of ours, I’m sure there are truths there. I’m going to share with you my side of the story, the one that my Mother told to me, and her mum told to her and so on. The story of the Warrior and the Witch. Said to take place over many thousands of years ago. I’m telling you this tale first to give you guys context for why your father does the things he does, why he’s like this and also how I fell in love with him.”

They both stare at me, eyes gleaming, and they would of heard this story eventually, but now I think it’s important because I don’t want to extinguish their curiosity into the unknown, even the mythical because ideas like that can change our very world and my Mother’s tale to me is all about that.

“Your father has seen a lot of unsightly things in his life, and I am thankful enough to have known him before his change.”

I bring out the cook book and find the recipe for cookies, easily able to take it out of the binder while I look for the recipe for frosting.

“The Tale starts with the Warrior on a hunt when he comes across a pack of large wolves. He has to kill the lead one as it has attacked his tribe, and their livestock. Little did he know that that wolf was tending to her young and killed because she was trying to feed them.”

They both looks sorrowful and I know how that is, taking a life so readily isn’t very kind, but it happened in the story, “that sounds sad,” Charlotte says, but I shake my head, “Sasha I’ll continue as we go, why not get me some ingredients.”

She nods, as she crawls over the counter, even though she is far taller now since she’s aged, she still sees herself as a small child and kneels on the counter as she opens a cabinet and asks what ingredients we’ll be needing.

After listing a few, I continue, “The Warrior finding her litter, a group of three pups, he takes them in, raising them, having a unique understand of them, and able to command them. Later still, he’ll be able to get more wolves under his command and his friends would be taught how to direct them as well. They used them to fight their enemy or take out large beast with ease.”

I scan the page and begin to list off more ingredients, wanting to pan out this tale. I’ve been listing both ingredients for the frosting and the cookie dough, as I do so, some ingredients are in the fridge and I nudge Charlotte who has lighten up and is staring up at me from her seat intently. I know she wants the see that thing again, I only saw it as a static form, but I do know, that’s one of many reasons why I married Eustace. That and this joint story of his, his tale differences slightly, but my side seems to have been far more embellished over the many generations it has traveled, so sharing this with the kids will inspire then I hope.

“Grab the ingredients I say from the fridge and bring them here.” I tell her now, and she nods.

I can see her fuming over what her father did, but as we get into the swing of things, it’s just like any other day that we make cookies or something good to eat. I had prepared dinner for all of us earlier, but all that hard work is going to waste with Eustace in this mood.

“Then we have the witch’s side of things, she was a slave to a nasty king who used her magic for evil, to strike down his enemies, of them, the Warriors’s people.”

“Do they fight,” Sasha asks as she gets down, holding a tub of cookie cutters before her. I go over to them and pull out one I knew we had.

“Yes, they did, they war and the Warrior enjoyed their battles a lot.” The one I pull out is that of a winged horse. A pegasus. “Those under the King’s command used these winged horses to fight those on the ground. While the Warrior and his people had many wolves at their command and used them, riding them to battle the King’s army.”

Charlotte stands their aimlessly as we’ve gotten all of our supplies together and I tell her to clear the kitchen table, since we’re not going to be using the silverware.

While she’s cleaning, I go on, as there isn’t much left. “See the Witch had a lover, having met the Warrior only once when the Warrior went to free one of his own from the evil King’s grasp. There the Warrior saw the Witch practicing blood rights, using her own blood as runes on a pegasus to make it stronger or something though magic.”

“That doesn’t make sense…” Charlotte says and it’s what I would guess she’d have said because when magic or fantasy is involved, it’s inanely doesn’t make senses to us. I would have thought she’d brought that up during the part about the mythical beast but apparently that makes more sense to her then blood runes.

Starting on the mixing as she comes back over, silverware in hand, Sasha grabs the four plates and brings them over.

“The Warrior is captivated by the Witch and lets himself be seen by her, and together they plan a way to overthrow the King, thing is the fortress that the Witch lives in is an off building to the castle which the King dwells in, one that’s floating on clouds in the skies.” Both their eyes light up as I continue, “I’m sure this part has been embellished, horses with wings, and people riding wolves…”

I quite down as I realize I am seeding in them my doubt which isn’t the intention of this conversation with them.

“What happened next?” I add more of this here, and some of that as I further the story. “Well the Witch was cast out of her home after she was found sleeping wit h the Warrior and so the two decide to take out the King and his ruthless ways. Now what I have neglected to add is that the Witch had a spirit guide, an owl that followed her that she commanded.”

They both look at me, as if they haven’t heard an interesting story in a long time, “The owl would relay message between the two as they set up for the decisive battle…”

I ponder on the rest of the story, and if I need to share all of it with them. I better as I don’t want them to get the wrong idea. I cough to clear my throat. “They won, flying up to his castle on the pegasus and dethroning the King and freeing all the slaves…but it wasn’t that simple, and the Witch took over, becoming the new King and adopting the King’s ruthless nature, soon fought back against the Warrior with her new found power…needless to say, things went astray.”

“Why did she do that?” Charlotte asks and I ponder it.

“It’s a story of struggle and power. If you had the power to command people, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” She answers innocently, “I want to be friends with everyone.”

“What about Seth,” Sasha adds, a boy from their school which makes Charlotte scowl.

“Not him, never him.” She answers her with a threaten tone.

“You two, calm down, I tell you their tale because it leads to Eustace’s gentler side, and his pet owl that he may be willing to show you two one night.”

“An Owl?” Sasha ask, and I nod,”

“Papa has a pet owl?” Charlotte adds and I nod again as Charlotte looks to be thinking and then asks, “is she a snowy white owl?”

I pause, acknowledging her question, “Yes, she is, named after his aunt. but hush about that, I’ll tell you more about her later, for now, let me get on with who your father is.” I finish preparing the cookie dough and set it aside, preparing the pan. “He once loved painting and enjoyed it to, I used to watch him do so, but just before he was drafted and long before I got pregnant with you Charlotte. He wanted to come home and kept wishing to. One day during deployment him and his group where ambushed, he knew them from his aunt’s orphanage and all of them but himself died.”

They watch intently as I mix the ingredients. They are old enough to know about Death, Eustace was right about that. “So is that why you married him?” Sasha asks me and I nod, Charlotte is helping, but very little, and I understand, she’s pouting still, but I see her smile as she’s looking though the cookie cutters and find an owl shaped one.

“His parents died, and my mother died as well, he is the last one living from his family…”

“We’re his family though,” Sasha adds.

“Yes, and we’re blood related, you two at least, but I’m not. He’s lost his whole family. Briton and Olive to the ice and cold…” Charlotte looks to me when I say this, I though she did see that painting of his parents.

“They where skating and fell though…” She adds as I nod.

“And my mother who he was very close to as well died during a performance.”

“You where part of a circus troop, where you not?” Charlotte asks.

“Yes. We where, but no longer, though the circus is still around, maybe one day we’ll go see them preform.”

They both stare at me, sadden of the news of their father’s life. “Losings his friends is what change him the most though. He was shot though the thigh which is why he always uses the cane. It never healed completely.”

The dough ready, they begin cutting it into the shapes and nibbling on the access.

I place them on the pan and then into the oven as we still sit around and I share with them of the change.

“He has shell shock yet refuses to get it treated. He wanted to stay here, be close to us, and because you had just been born after his return from having his leg treated, he never got it treated.”

We begin on making the frosting since that doesn’t take too long and I continue, “a nightmare came a few days after your birth Charlotte. Of hordes of skeletons that where ruled by the Grim Reaper. He believe that Death was following him, and killing those closest to him if they ever try to be happy and while your Father wishes for your happiness, it’s a fine line and to dream, to try to be something impossible will always end in failure and death from his point of view. So he is trying to keep you safe for if you reach for your dream, you’ll die, as his parents did, and as my mother did. He thinks the same of himself.”

Frosting done, a thick white, the cookies also done, we start to dress them with the frosting, and Sasha brings out sprinkles of red, white and blue to pour on them. Nearly done, I place them into the oven and tell the girls to find something to do for the time being, I want to talk to Eustace.

Into the oven they go, and we pause our story, those two playing a card game while I snake back to the Study’s door and listen in, seeing if Eustace is ready to join us again.

Opening the door a crack, I see him near the fireplace, all of his old paintings burned or burning in the fireplace as he stares at the fires, eyes blank. I’m hesitant to go in, but I need to know he’s still there, that he hasn’t gone completely mad.

I approach slowly, placing my arms around him in a hug as for a moment, he doesn’t say anything before a fresh batch of tears being flowing down his cheeks, trying to muffle his cries I do what I can, and hold him tighter, he never says a word to me, and I remain silent, knowing the only thing he needs right now is love.

We’re there for forever and he squeezes my arm with his large hand, a cue to me that he’s finished and I part, he turns back to me, “I’ll be with you three shortly...I...I didn’t mean to hit her.”

“She knows that, she does,” I wipe the tears from his eyes, “stay here, wait to join us, I don’t think you want them seeing you this emotional.”

“I do, I’m not heartless, I have bad and good days just like everyone else. So what if they see me crying, we’re family.”

My own father would never be able to show himself to us if he where crying, I never even knew he did till after my own mother passed. I walk back for the door, feeling that enough time has passed the that cookies are now finished and we need to get them out of the oven.

Eustace follows me back to the kitchen as I go for the cookies and he waits just outside the room, staring in, shy and reserved as Charlotte looks to him.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.” Charlotte remains quiet, but does look happy for the apology and then he looks back to me. “I need to sleep, I’ll join you three later.” He leaves, sluggishly, unwillingly as if he knows he should be with us, enjoying himself but knows that Death is watching him, waiting for him to truly be happy before he strikes again, he’s doing this to himself, he’s living in constant fear and knows it...I at least hope so.

Oven mitts on, I take out the pan and lift the cookies off the wax paper, then I watch Sasha playing with them while Charlotte joins her. Charlotte taking the pegasus looking one that she spent extra time on to put a face while Sasha takes a bird and explains how beautiful it is. They play with the cookies if they are figures while I take a different cookie, one that looks like an owl’s face and bite into it, it’s tasty and reminds me of Eustace’s feathery friend.

They play together, Charlotte pretending to attack Sasha’s bird with her cookie and I laugh.

Charlotte’s Perspective:

I’m asleep as soon as I hit my bed. I see a form running though burning woods as I see wolves howling on the ground before I am cast skyward, and storm clouds brew as a pegasus with fiery tipped feathers extending from it’s wings, mane and tail leaves the dark purple storm clouds that thunder behind it. There is a white diamond patch of fur where the pegasus’s forehead is. A bird, a large one with three long tail feathers extending from it peacock like feathers and beings circling the pegasus before diving into it and knocking over the pegasus, overlapping the scene is my sister and I playing out the exact same thing, but with our cookies.

I then see the owl cookie that my Mama made for herself and it comes to life as a snowy owl’s face, blinking and staring at me, as if aware. The thunder clouds boom and echo around me as they soon obscure the scene as a city comes into view, tall and grand, unlike anything I have ever seen before. I submit to the tranquility of the dream, loosing what little I can recall from there upon waking to the sun peering into the window.