Celia/Prologue
Celia
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Prologue
Sometimes I sipped tea and read in my chair in the back garden. The shrubbery that separated it from the long expanse of commons offered a little privacy from the children that played there. Groups of boys and girls who lived close by tended to roam in little packs. Sometimes they played games or huddled together and shared the latest gossip. Besides the frequent game of footy, they played Hide and Seek or Soldiers and Indians and entrenched themselves in my shrubs or engaged in skirmishes across my green. Otherwise, it was usually quiet and uneventful back there.
While I watched one such game, I caught sight of a movement out of the corner of my eye and spotted a tiny face that peeked out of the door of the abandoned coal chute that led to the basement beneath my house. It was something I never put a lock on because I never believed anyone would intrude, plus the doors were a deterrent because they were awkward and heavy. The little face was smudged with ancient coal dust and froze in place when they saw my gaze. It would be hard to explain, but a silent moment passed between us where no words were exchanged and time seemed to halt. I saw something in her eyes that spoke to me but it couldn’t be put into words. It was like I knew her, or at least recognized her spirit, some kind of familiarity that I couldn’t quite place. Then, like a tiny streak of lightning she flew out of the door, which crashed shut behind her, and across the green before she disappeared into the common.
Days later I spotted her, but this time she was up my apple tree. She had tossed several fruit to the ground below and when she spotted me, she dropped out of the tree, collected the bounty in her skirt and then quickly vanished. Several more times I thought I spotted her on the edge of my garden but couldn’t tell if it was her or not. Then, another time, when my brother’s family was over, I thought I saw her with my nieces as they played on the edge of the common. I hazard to guess, but figured she was close to their age, maybe six or seven. But, she remained elusive, a phantom or shadow, and I never got to actually make her acquaintance until I cornered her while she pilfered my fruit again.
I thought of her as the little neighbourhood waif. A rough and tumble little ruffian that could pass for a boy with her short tangle of flaxen tresses, which were perpetually mussed and tinted a mousy hue from the dirt she attracted like a magnet. She appeared to be a loner because there were no children in the vicinity close to her age and the older girls that gathered on the common mostly tended to ignore her. However, some of the older boys were kind enough to let her play games with them but it was mystery the girls didn’t. Maybe they felt it beneath them to associate with the uncouth little girl.
Eventually, I caught her unawares while she pinched fruit from my tree but when I scolded her for the theft, she burst into tears. It broke my heart to make her cry and I quickly apologized. I even offered to gather the fruit for her anytime she wanted. It unnerved me to watch the tears streak her filthy cheeks and I promptly wiped them away with my handkerchief, which only smudged and streaked the grime and made her look all the worse.
End Prologue
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