Objective: Who is Abel?
Violet didn't dress for the day until after breakfast, so wore her plaid white and pink nightshirt to the table.
"Morning," she called to her sisters on the table and Mother stirring what had to be oatmeal. And continued a consistent hum while her thoughts collected and shook out cobwebs from the night before.
Winifred oggled for a second before replying back, while Mildred's eyes sparkled at the words, placing a piece of toast for her on a lace trimmed napkin.
A spread of toast, butter and jam, along with fresh blackberry smoothies was also prepared.
Settled into her seat Mother poured and placed a bowl of cinnamon topped strawberry oatmeal in front of her.
She was content to let her older sisters talk around her while Mother made sure to give them both adequate attention.
Despite talking about the over-complicated things in their high-school books and New York celebrities.
"Their designs, they're so elegant and I bet you--"
"Costs more than the farm. And imagine the markup once they would hit stores."
"True, true but still--"
"I'd want one of those too!" both agreed. "Ughh that magazine is due back at the library today though isn't it."
"Well it's either do that or have to endure harvesting the silo again," Winifred whispered grumpily.
"Good point."
And Violet, for whatever reason didn't keep her peace.
"And have me do it. No thanks. I'd probably lose an arm or get trapped and choke in all that grain. Or worse yet have to hire one of the other men to do it."
Both her other sisters simply stared, before turning to each other, and outright pointing at her.
Granted, she kept to her own head most days unless there were issues Mother wanted to talk about or there were Sunday plans after church on a particular week.
Though really, she wasn't certain who did or didn't believe in a God or the God, or whether church was purely a social activity where even furthest flung households could catch up and connect with each other.
She knew in her house, it wasn't really enforced or spoken about save for the traditional holiday prayers.
That may have been it. People did it since it was just what the routine was. Just like every town needed to have a church just like it needed a candy store and bank.
Only did a town need two weird kids? Abel may have not been aware and she wouldn't tell him, but there was already a weird, eccentric child that all the others didn't exactly include in their games. And no it was not her.
But to the point at hand is that Abel was odd. Yet odd in a very different way than she was accustomed or learned on.
Some days she could imagine he despised her very presence from her lackluster, somehow always rumpled moth-eaten sweaters or skirts-- seriously she didn't wring her clothes that much! She'd counted-- to the length of her long hair.
It was a constant of circular riddles and inane questions. Underneath what he constantly told her may or may not have been lies.
"Why is he such a liar?" she whispered.
"Liar, liar, ants in his pants."
"Maybe I should give him a wedgie. He'd never see..."
"Is she, she isn't right? Our Vi talking about boys?"
It.
At her side of the table Froo-Froo the cat mewed, jauntily displaying herself with a purr at her leg.
Violet chuckled at the sight, struck by the urge to pick up her adorable cat.
Only to remember of how Abel had been the one to return her. A fact the foster father had simply had to mention when she'd opened the door.
But she was a fickle, indifferent type of creature.
Coldly independent and with the expectation of being adored solely on her schedule.
She imagined it had to be a nightmare to be a foster child, utterly unwanted and constantly given back as if he were some two-bit wool sweater with fleas.
It almost escaped her when her sisters mentioned boys now, mostly about whether they were cuter light or dark.
"That they're not liars," she answered thoughtfully, and that would genuinely be nice. "Are all boys liars?"
And that had them thinking, so she could keep thinking.
Why didn't he act like one? Talk like one?
All shy and uneasy of other people, because they were mean and scary and sometimes way-way bigger and with demon eyes.
And then other days, other days is where he would smile. A smile that wasn't quite right. Not right in that, it looked too much like what everyone else had.
When Abel had clearly lived in a city most his life and had probably been around a lot of money, the kind a Prince had from the movies shown in the cinema or DVDs Mother has bought Vivian of princesses and magic and Disney.
Viv was confident, bought her pastel pink, never owned a single pair of pants and if she could glue glitter to it she'd make it shine in neon pink and silver.
Way too confident if Violet was honest, when she wore awful round and oversized glasses and at sixteen had a litany of blackheads and huge porous grooves dug into her face.
"This is the most she's said in ever," Mildred acknowledged, voice serious.
"I know, and look at that face."
"Do you think she wants to kill someone?"
"It can be like that," Winifred mused, surely nodding in some type of "wise mentor" speak. "We should support her."
"Girls," Mother chided, "do NOT speak about your sister behind her back."
Taking a bite of her oatmeal, she let the thickened, congealed blob swill in her mouth. Before swallowing hard.
Stirring her bowl to gather together a massive, fat wad large as a tarantula's posterior. "They should talk about me in another room."
Mildred smacked her palm on the table, having cricked her neck the other way to look anywhere else.
"Millie," Mom said, completely aghast.
"Sorry but come on Vi never talks at mealtimes!"
"Or movie nights!"
"Or ever really."
Mother simply sighed. And feeling her gaze land, Violet scooped her bowl and shoveled a heap of breakfast in her mouth. Hopefully making her a little less concerned or she felt better hiding in her food.
No one would have to know which was which.
__________________________
Normally Mom, her sisters, and Violet too of course, would make their bread line to have product shipped the next day.
From their grains and fresh made flour were warm loaves and cinnamon toast treats available on shelves the same day for four weeks of every fall for as long as they'd been here.
And routine, routine was something she'd always appreciated. Better yet the completely optional nature of interacting with people.
Always on a Thursday, which she'd specially mark each year.
Thursday.
Compared to a bi-weekly plan for Mr. Emile's eggs and milk and well grown veggies, obviously diligently watered on schedule.
This Wednesday, she'd begged of her mother and convinced Vivian to make the trek out to the town proper.
Despite having no other thing to do herself.
"They were getting milk bottles ready. Eggs and vegetables too," Violet informed as a stark answer for Viv's unasked questions, who was a consistent few paces behind.
"Oh okay then," Vivian nodded along, "easy don't get your knickers in a twist."
"Abel just told me that. That they'd get the bottles and things, but to definitely expect they'll be delivering."
"The foster kid," and she wasn't quite sure why there was a slightly sad look to how she said it. Or something like it.
Violet simply puffed her cheeks, a creeping score of red taking up her cheeks.
Vivian did due diligence to make sure Violet stayed with her, within her line of sight.
Since usually, Violet would habitually hold her sister's hand, finding the presence of someone she really, really knew was right at her side-- on her side-- always and often soothing. Even if she should really be past that by now.
Abel from the city took to farm life with diligence, so that eventually she would watch him do the tasks by muscle memory, looking at her while talking instead of eggs or the stream from a hose.
Vivian offered an ice cream which Violet accepted.
She was just finished with her cone and her hands sticky with strawberry when coming to the tiny, vintage grocery store, mostly there for tourist and historic nostalgia, where deliveries of glass milk bottles were shuttled from pick up truck to door man.
The go-between being an adolescent from the community center.
His name was Dorian Laurel who had a little brother two years younger than Violet and completely full of himself. She knew him better so she asked him about who else delivered today.
"Emile, Emile," he pondered, furrowing his brow and then, "wait is that a new kid in town? Kind of a girly name."
Violet couldn't help herself and just groaned, "no the one with the foster kid. Y'know the one no city agency social worker visits for some reason."
"Shaa-- shoot-- I did see the guy actually. But no sorry, hasn't been in."
And before Violet could elaborate, "I only saw him at the community center checking up on the schedule for escape rooms and what programs were starting up next season for his son. Also, I thought he was well-- do they give single guys like that a son?"
Why was he asking me? I didn't know! I didn't know why he chose Abel who was so difficult to be honest much as I did like a friend who kept his voice down and really couldn't care one way or another which meant Violet couldn't disappoint.
"Nevermind, probably shouldn't have said something like that," Dorian decided.
He then waved ahead to Vivian who just tilted her head, keeping suspicious and glowering.
"Okay bye then," she decided with a succinct nod and wave of her own. Because it was what kids her age did. Even if people she wasn't even talking to saw and could get the wrong idea of some random little girl addressing them.
Just across the street was the bakery who should be expecting-- along with her own family's sorghum flour on discount-- a stock of white and brown eggs.
She would remember both kinds being in Abel's basket.
Before they went in she did ask, "is there something wrong about Mr. Emile?"
Vivian huffed, "you mean what Dorian said. Vi, I am not the person to talk to you about that."
It might be better to simply give up the line of questions there, Vivian did not like the topic. And if she got so annoyed at how Abel would needle-- then again forcing her to talk, to say what she thought, maybe she should take from his city-learned confidence.
"Why not? Is he sick? I think he's good."
"No offense but how would you know that?" Vivian asked crossing her arms.
"I think you should ask how I know Abby if he never leaves the house."
Vivian blew air from her still closed lips but eventually deflated on her guarded stance, "look don't repeat anything I say, and don't listen about the stupid stuff Dorian says. I should tell you to talk to Mom about this stuff but I'll tell you what I think anyway. I think you'll agree."
"What is it?" she wondered, now getting just a little uneasy. This sounded pretty serious and she never liked serious too much. Even a lot of the more fiery and death parts of Church and service made her heart hurt and tears spring to her eyes like red-hot pin needles.
"Most adults usually get married and have kids, they stay around, in small towns like this. It's different in cities of course and sometimes that means things can get messy but," Vivian shrugged quite casually, "long as we're here that mess isn't really our concern or much less have an opinion. It's just their way."
Violet nodded along for now. But she did know of plenty of adults who had left. Teenagers who had gone far away for college and then, were just suddenly not part of the big group anymore.
The notion scared her. The type of unsteady, dizzying anxiety that was so acute since-- she knew she wasn't of the group. Not really.
"So you know the son," Vivian pivoted but she didn't point that out, "and I won't ask why or how. See everyone knows about him too, the guy, really weird, has taken him out a few times for this or that. Mostly doing what the kid likes. Usually involves a lot of books and sitting still by the way, you're welcome."
Violet stared at her dryly. Then she assumed how Violet was feeling too, but she supposed she could grant Vivian grace.
"Alright, alright, now foster kids... there are all the rumors and horror stories of what goes on and from the looks of it they seem pretty true."
Why was she so stuck on finding Abel today?
Since she knew being in public meant running away would be more humiliating than not and they'd have two maybe even three hours of uninterrupted company together.
"Kids like that, they need special care, need someone who can be there full 100 without weird stuff or ulterior motives. I don't know where it comes from but it's "odd" somehow when a guy or girl without a partner adopts kids and well, most of the town-- here I mean-- is "in the know" about Mr. Emile being pretty obviously gay. Supposedly social services gets pretty weird about handing over kids to gays too."
That was a lot of words. A lot of which either didn't make sense as words or just didn't make sense for how-- odd and arbitrary it all fit together.
So, someone who liked men, couldn't have kids? Weren't-- allowed kids? Because-- because--?
"Look Vi, really don't think too hard on it. Besides rumor or what have you, it. Is. Not. Our business."
Violet nodded with a crooning hum.
"Good. So let's get going to your Princey-poo who may or may not be into other princes."
Violet just whined again, which this time Vivian misunderstood for hurt.
"What about the candy store or heck he could have dumped him at the bookstore or set him to wait on the church steps? See we know they make their own taffy over there."
It was a logical idea.
But the more likely answer is that Violet just wanted another sweet or better yet, take advantage of what was also near the church. The plaza where the high schoolers often met for crummy burgers or to catch a cab for the theater on the other side of town.
"Let's try that after the big grocery store."
Vivian didn't hold back on pouting but followed along anyway.
Where a bus terminal across the road could take them to the superstore center.
The bigger grocery store was just a stone's throw from the competing barbers and with a park across the street.
"Hey Violet, in all seriousness," she said in a light, careless tone, "you never want to go out really if you can help it, you-- you have no friends," she popped out, but despite the discomfort of saying so a grin spread across Viv's face. "I was right wasn't I? Little Violet has a boyfriend. I can help."
Violet violently shook her head.
"No Abby's just as weird as I am and I dunno about good or bad but Emile is really super weird about keeping Abel on schedule or something. Abel's super lonely and that's sad so I'm giving him my company."
She may prefer getting tonsils removed but it still sat wrong with Violet that Abel didn't get the choice to avoid social activity.
Vivian laughed but still nodded, looking vaguely pleased. For what reason Violet wasn't completely sure.
"Okay then sis. That's-- that's a real good reason to make me have to interact with the rabble."
"You mean the sun which is probably not great for your skin already," she figured quietly.
"But anyway we also all buy our clothes at second hand stores, but somehow only yours have colors like vomit had an affair with scorched Earth."
Delivered in the deadpan tone many still found "cute," not that she dared use that little trick often.
"Jesus Vi, the mouth on you," Vivian scolded but more impressed than anything else.
"Keep that up and I'll be having a talking to with this kid."
Violet couldn't help but frown. And not just since it would probably be a bad idea if Abel specifically, were to be accosted.
It was sorely her turn to be scolded.
Curse that she couldn't-- at least-- look her in the eyes as she did it.
Was she crazy? Probably, but she'd meant what she'd said anyway. Abel sorely needed a friend and why he couldn't just say so-- there had to be a why?
Just because people didn't hear or she didn't always speak when told, well Violet still had her opinions written on her face.
And least Abel would get her meaning and get that someone knew he would need talking.
Vivian was mostly forgiven-- key word mostly-- holding onto Violet by her shoulders in a warm hug that almost put her to sleep had the bus not screeched to a stop just then.
With a few bleary blinks she shook herself awake and did hope her hair hadn't gotten to messy. Abel would curl his lips in that way that whether he knew or didn't know made her feel insecure she wouldn't say. And maybe she would tell him, once she could be steady and not such a big baby.
Surely big city boy thought it even if it was one of the uncouth, unwarranted thoughts he often wondered why kids had to blurt out without decorum.
They got lucky, and Vivian got a drawn out vindicating "YEEEEES! I am foisting you off on those two!"
Parked at the store entrance was Mr. Emile's very odd car that shouldn't have been depended on to make heavy produce deliveries and for some reason traps yet more heat with its tinted windows.
Violet ran ahead to her sister's tense call, "wait! Oh I didn't mean literally!"
Charging on to the entrance it didn't matter when the doors opened with a cheery tune greeting, the attention didn't matter so much.
She careened and tumbled straight into the weird Mr. Emile whose mouth had gone into an O and so, unable to catch her.
On the floor it passed her mind to ask what got this man angry?
All adults got angry in some way or another for many reasons. And while she feared it, it was important information.
Only, she realized from her vantage point just how big Emile was. Big as any man or woman, who sometimes did judge her-- she knew they did-- and worse yet wasn't in with the group either.
She didn't know this man and that hit with a shuddering dread.
Violet eked away with a nervous, frightened little creen.
Hands at her ears were the last place she could defend herself but the voice was all muddled and confusing, she knew she was losing sight of herself and where she was.
Her face had turned feverish and she stuttered.
Unable to ask where Abel was or use any of the many, many ghastly ways she and he both knew to say what they mean without being offensive.
She closed her eyes but opened them again just as quick, realizing that it would be a very bad idea to not see if someone was attacking her or touching her wrong.
Violet knew Emile wasn't the kind to attack.
But he'd been bigger and he'd been older and he'd be taken more seriously even if he were quiet like her.
"Hey there sweetie," he whispered in a much quieter, more even voice. The kind her teachers often used whenever they talked alone or in front of the class. The one that said she wasn't there to be embarrassed. "Violet is it? My son's wonderful and clever little friend."
A bit of a dumb question.
She'd seen from first sight that he'd known she was in their yard.
And then, "Oh but don't tell him I called him that. Both of you won't mind that right?"
Emile looked up and so she had to infer Vivian had caught up.
And had been there to witness anything that may go wrong.
Her fears dissipated.
"Afternoon to you both," he said, but held a hand for Violet with a dazzling smile, "come on now let's get you up off that dirty floor yeah?"
Violet couldn't help but sink further inside, clutching at the hem of her peppermint blouse.
"I promise I'm not making fun. I should have caught you, any responsible person would have done so," he continued, "consider myself sorry for the whole thing."
Violet took his hand.
"There, good girl," he said approvingly.
"Abel," she said without segue. Stupid.
But in barely a blink Emile seemed to understand her absolutely perfectly.
"Picking out some treats and what he wants for dinner tonight, considering I've run him to the bone today. I'm sure you're aware dear," he pinned a knowing gaze with a torqued head.
"He lived in the city before."
"Ding ding ding."
Violet, despite her previous anxieties did preen and giggled along. Oh, Mr. Emile was absolutely still odd and that wasn't reassuring but she couldn't help it! She was less mature and much more easily impressed than Abel!
He admitted himself he'd be an outcast in most settings so it was alright!
She also remembered how he missed the few settings he wasn't.
“What’s it like mister?” she asked, wide eyed and staring at him, face for the most part quite blank. “In the city.”
For a moment he didn’t reply, he thought about it some before he smiled still. “Oh I’m sure you could ask Abel,” he said, “I do think he’d like to talk about it.”
“Okay,” she agreed, voice still unsure. Something she probably shouldn’t have let Emile or her sister see. Then he might think she didn’t trust him for no reason.
She didn’t but still.
“Uhh hey still over here Vi,” Vivian reminded with a pointed smile.
Back straight and face bemused she held out her hand, greeting Mr. Emile with formality.
“Oh yes hello, apologies really for my manners it’s just your lovely sister was talking and—“
And quite expertly she interrupted. Laughing heartily, as if she did implicitly agree. “Right I bet. She is… interesting.”
Hey!
“Oh I think the better word dear, is sharp as a whip,” Emile replied and really still only had eyes on Violet. As if he and Violet were still talking. Weird.
“And yes I heard it, just a joke but no less true,” he assured.
“Sure, I mean I didn’t mean anything by it,” Vivian replied looking uncharacteristically chastised.
“No of course not, but I have to admit we don’t know each other well,” Mr. Emile rounded off with a slight frown.
“Oh well I’m Vivian, this one’s older sister. And see she and your— ward— are friends?”
“Were you curious why he was out of home?”
Violet just shook her head.
“Uh uh he told me what the plan was. But I didn’t want him to be lonely and bored all day.”
“Oh that’s so sweet,” Emile gushed. “He’ll be so happy, well on the inside, he will be though. Then,” and looking at Vivian, “do you mind if we take her off your hands. A couple hours I think is how long she usually stays.”
“Hang on, you knew about that?” she asked.
“Oh well sure, I keep an eye on him, protective I guess she likes to climb fences and I apologize about her having come home wet.”
“Hang on back up, take me through that,” Vivian said in a more urgent note.
“See well— huh, Abel should have been back by now. I say treats but he only likes so much.”
“I mean surely he’s fine?”
“Fine I’m not worried about he’s good—“
”Will an Emile Frau please come to the customer service desk. Emile Frau please come to the customer service desk.”
Foster kids did tend to have issues.
But Abel wasn’t— he’d just never been like other foster kids.
Have you stolen?
Have you cheated?
Did anyone ever bleed cuz of you?
He was absolutely the kid who would if it meant sticking up for himself and what was his. By absolute legal and authority standards.
“No.”
“No”
“And no, why would— who would do that? It accomplishes absolutely nothing and begets more problems.”
That’s what one calls a net loss.
This was probably one too. Emile would no way let him spend time with a friend now.
And he hadn’t even tried to steal candy or other food. They’d found a lighter, a small dish soap liquid, and a pack of pens.
Objective: Unequivocally Failed