Wayfarer: A Tale of Beauty and Madness (Tales of Beauty and Madness) by Lili St. Crow

Author:Lili St. Crow [St. Crow, Lili]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-03-06T00:00:00+00:00

That first afternoon remained full of light for a long time, a bright island in a sea of ink.

The foyer was floored in licorice black and whipped-cream linoleum squares, polished until they shone. Stairs went up along the right side, but a parlor opened off to the right as well, comfortable and overstuffed, all in shades of peppermint and cherry. The smoke from the chimney came from the kitchen toward the back, the dining room a tiny nook, with a round wicker table draped with a cinnamon cloth.

It was what Laurissa would sniff at as “country chic, you know,” and for a moment the stuffed scarecrow in a blue velvet coat, propped against the dining room’s wall, seemed to twitch, its sad painted eyes eerily lifelike as it gazed over the table and the two noodle-colored wicker chairs with eggplant cushions.

Braided strings of garlic and other less-identifiable things hung from racks, and the kitchen’s copper pots and cornhusk-green towels and touches were a little shocking by contrast. There was a wide brick hearth with an ember-glowing fire under a large iron cauldron, whose bubbling lid let loose bursts of colorless steam. It was the more prosaic stove and oven Auntie turned to, her housedress now appropriate amid all the other colors, an exotic bird in its soft delicious nest.

The tea was heavy and rich, full of cream and spice. The sandwiches were watercress with thick pale cheese on snow-white bread, peppery and fresh; the cookies round sunwheels full of candied ginger. The brownies Ellie smelled were nowhere in sight, but that didn’t matter, because for the first time in a long while Ellie could eat without her stomach cramping.

Auntie kept pouring the tea, and Ellie knew she was maybe shocking the old lady, but all of a sudden, there at the cinnamon table, she found herself pouring the entire story out. The old woman nodded, thoughtfully, asking a question every now and again. She wasn’t interested in Avery or Cami or Ruby—though Ruby’s name stirred a faint bit of brightness in her dark eyes—but she was very curious about the Strep.

The funny thing was, Ell could never afterward remember much of what exactly Auntie had said. Just that the questions had been penetrating but soft, incisive but not impolite. That she had a way of drawing Ellie out, and that nobody had listened to her, really listened to Ell, in a long time. She was a stranger, not a charity case, so the old woman evinced no surprise or distaste.

One thing she said Ellie remembered a long time after. “A daughter, yes. Old Auntie wants a daughter, but may have none. So she is Auntie.” The old woman gave her a considering look. “A wandering, wayfaring daughter, her family must be proud.”

Proud? Of me? It was such a novel idea she shook her head immediately. “I guess Mom was . . . but she’s gone, and Dad . . .” Yet the soft, quiet idea that maybe they had been proud was a balm, and it turned the key in the lock.

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