The Fires of Arabella

No one ever wanted to play with the pale as death child. The small girl frequently lurked across the snowy neighborhood, clutching a night-black wolf toy. The locals did not know where she came from. They were constantly bickering over what her actual name was, trying to remember what the child had softly pronounced when introducing herself to the small-town mayor.

Today, the child had been standing alone in her front porch, her dark eyes hungrily following a small group of toddlers building a snowman. The inhabitants never approached her, even when they noticed that she would have liked to shyly say hello. The villagers’ sense of propriety overrode any sense of sympathy for that quiet and odd creature. Their desire to shroud the young stranger’s home in mystery was greater than any maternal instinct towards a lonely infant.

There had been rumors that the child’s voluptuous and scantily dressed mother was a lady of the night.

“And we all know what that means”, the old seamstress loudly declared.

“Oh hush, Catherine!”, the schoolteacher quipped. “You shan’t be mentioning that in front of the children!”

The vineyard owner jumped in, drunkenly dragging his exploits from the previous night into Aunt Margaret’s vast and hollow living room. “My dear Madam, if the mother is not a lady of the night, then I pray she is not the devil.”

“Mr. Wimbley, that is blasphemy”, the old seamstress crossed herself frantically, as if she were exorcising evil from her aunt’s damp and putrid home.

“For if she is not earning through our good men, how else does she ensure this child eats?” The vineyard owner cackled, clumsily seating himself in a large armchair.

The schoolteacher shook her head sadly. She did not find it proper that the neighbors would spend a good half of their day gossiping about the poor, fatherless child. And on a Sunday after church, above all! Though as the glistening snow gradually raged into a snowstorm and the parents anxiously called their children indoors, the schoolteacher felt relieved to be in the warm coziness of her neighbors’ voices. Those were the familiar tones that she had grown up with, that had guided her through a righteous path and instructed her to become the pious servant she was. Taking a sip of her murky tea, the schoolteacher reassured herself that it was perfectly fine for her to care more for her neighbours' children than for this haughty woman’s daughter.

And with one neighbour hastily welcoming the other in, and another putting the kettle on, and another singing cheerful songs to calm the children in light of the blazing storm outside, everyone seemed to forget about the strange child. The child however, had not forgotten about the villagers. She angrily stared at them from her barren front porch, as the warm fires of their homes flickered through the storm. Her porcelain bones were shivering, her skin was cracking, her raven hair was freezing. She had lost her wolf toy into the snow, as the wind was howling louder than any wolf.

The small child trudged her way back to her front door, as she herself had understood that the situation was concerning. The strides seemed endless, with each bolt of wind shoveling her back and each gust of thunder terrorizing her to the core. Though the young girl knew that if she did not open the heavy door, she would be left outside. None of those blithering idiots would care for her. As her mother had explained to her, they were all jealous.

Mommy is an engineer. The child whispered, her fingers clawing at the cold metal door.

Mommy is an engineer and that is why they are jealous. The child stifled a sob, knowing that if she did not manage to enter the house, no one would open their own house to her.

Mommy is an engineer and she is smarter than all the men in the village. The child smiled as she stopped moving, thinking that in any case her mom could revive her somehow.

“Arabella!” Her mother shrieked. The girl turned and saw the most beautiful angel. Her mother had come home early and was bolting towards her, her crimson red petticoat flying and her dark hat bouncing on her head comically. Arabella knew her mother would always be there for her. She did not mind that much that she had no one to play with.

“Arabella you poor thing!” Her mother picked her up, furiously glaring at the house opposite theirs. The neighbors were distributing biscuits and fires were merrily bouncing off the shadows.

I hope their houses burn down. The mother fervidly murmured, raging at the lack of respect and empathy that these close-minded vermin had.

Arabella immediately snuggled into her mother’s warm hold, with the scent of metal and oil embracing her. She forgot about the numbness in her body. Her thoughts comfortably drifted to her mother’s mysterious work, with the whirring of machines already emanating from the basement.

And in between all the hassle, with the mother pushing the door open and muttering to her child that she was all right, the neighbors had once more missed Arabella’s name.