Tea and Cookies
BjorkeA | May 12 , 2009
Categories: BjorkeA, Journals Tags: Bjorke, Pippa
Two nights of peaceful sleep. That had been like heaven. Blissful oblivion. No nightmares. No smoke. No screams. She’d even made it through a visit to the surgeon without quaffing half a bottle of bourbon: there had been no voices in her head, whispering at her. For two nights in a row after her visit to Bishop Spencer Cardijn, she had slept soundly.
The screaming woke her and she sat up, shaking. As the smoke and fear and terror faded, Bjorke realized there was another sound. Not screaming, but definitely noises of fear. She threw back the covers as she grabbed her knife with her other hand. Hero was already at the door, waiting for it to open. She flung open the door and Hero ran to the couch where the girl, Pippa was tossing fitfully. A worried frown crossed her face, but seeing there was no immediate danger, Bjorke set her blade on the dresser and wrapped a robe around herself as she went to the sitting room.
She sat on the edge of the couch, and rubbed the girl’s back. “Shhh. Pippa. Shhh. It’s alright,” she murmured soothingly. Hero had rested his head on Pippa’s leg, offering his presence as reassurance as well.
Pippa woke with a start, her eyes wild. Bjorke smiled at her. “Bad dream?” A nod, and Bjorke pulled her up, to hug her close, stroking her hair. “’S alright now. You’re safe.” She held trembling child in her arms, continuing the soothing noises. Before long, it was over. Bjorke pulled back to look at her, pushing the hair off her face. “Want to tell me about it?”
“Don’t… don’t ‘member, now. Just…. scary.” Pippa was normally so happy and bubbly, enough to drive Bjorke to distraction at times, but seeing her frightened was disconcerting.
“Mmmm. Perhaps a cup of tea, then? Something to eat?” While Bjorke preferred bourbon to quell her nightmares, she did have the sense to realize that fourteen year old girls need different cures.
“I’ll get some started, Mistress.”
“No, dear, I didn’t mean that. Go wash your face. I’ll put the kettle on.” She patted Pippa’s face, smiling, then headed to the kitchen.
As the water boiled, Bjorke got out two sturdy mugs, then opened a tin, spooning some of the dried herbal mixture into each cup. Another tin produced cookies cut into animal shapes. Bjorke smiled at those. Truitt had brought them, apparently thinking the girls were much younger. As it turns out, teenage girls like animal cookies just as much as young ones do. Especially ones with icing. She bit into one, taking its head off. As she brushed the crumbs from her lips, she allowed that grown women liked them, too.
Pippa bounced into the kitchen, seemingly no longer effected by the dream. “Cookies!” She grabbed two before sitting at the small table, pulling her knees up to her chest. Bjorke finished making the tea, adding a generous spoon of honey and some cream to Pippa’s.
“Drink this. It will help you sleep.” If only valerian tea would work for her, but alas. Some night terrors needed stronger stuff. Sitting there in her night rail, Pippa looked so young, so innocent. At that age, Bjorke had been a hellion – constantly fighting, challenging anyone who doubted her boasts. She couldn’t help grin at the spunky young girl in front of her. If circumstances were different, their similarities might be more evident. Pippa was outgoing, fearless, energetic, and often had a hard time knowing when to keep quiet. She also had a stubborn streak. Granted, not a strong one, but perhaps that, too, was due to her circumstances.
“How’d you come to be at the Orphanage, Pippa?”
“It was just me and Momma an’ when she died, I hadta go there,” she mumbled around the cookie.
“How did she die? And what about your father?” Bjorke kept her voice soft, not wanting to upset the girl.
Pippa shrugged, helping herself to another cookie. She nibbled it, tail first, then feet, all around the edges. “Didn’t ever know him. Momma said he was a nice soldier but he hadda nother family. Said I got his blue eyes and his name – Phillip.” Her nose crinkled at that; obviously, she much preferred ‘Pippa’ to ‘Phillipa’.
“And your mother?” she prodded gently.
Another shrug and another cookie. “Don’t member much. She died of consumerism. That’s what they said, anyway, but I think it was a broken heart.”
Bjorke’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Do you mean consumption?”
She nodded. “That’s what those fellas in the black tabards said. Anyway, she just got a letter about Phillip an’ she died. I don’t think it was consumer—“
“Consumption.”
“Consump’in at all. But they burnt everything anyway. Then they took me to the Orphanage. I was just a kid back then. Seven.” She washed down her story with the tea, cool enough to gulp, wiping at the mustache left behind.
“Burned… Black tabards..” Bjorke murmured to herself as her mind raced. “The Dawn? They found you?”
“Uh huh. Same fellas next to the Orphanage. See ‘em alla time.” An experimental dunk of cookie in tea proved tasty, so she continued, holding the mug up to her chin to avoid losing the soggy delight in the tea.
“About this letter. What did it say? Do you know where it is?”
Between slurps, Pippa said, “It was from his other family. Said he was dead an’ Momma shouldn’t try to get money from them ’cause they dint believe I was his.” Slurp. “Burnt up, I guess. They burnt everything.”
Bjorke closed the tin of cookies and put it away. “Well, that’s all done with now, hmm?”
“Evangaline looked so happy, dint she?” Pippa seemed fairly unconcerned over the tale she’d just told, asking instead about one of the other girls who had been hired to care for Bjorke during her convalescence.
“Yes, she did. Entering her studies as a priestess was what she really wanted.” Bjorke had written a letter of referral, as had Bishop Cardijn. No doubt that one carried more weight. And now, she was ensconced at Northshire Abbey as a novice.
“An’ Maesie’s keen on her new job, too, huh?”
“She is. After spending time with my sister, helping her smith things, she realized how much she enjoyed it. And the blacksmith she’s apprenticing with is a good man. He’ll take good care of her, Pippa.”
“Too bad Adela wanted to go back.”
“She missed her friends at the Orphanage. It’s alright. She’ll find her way.” And Bjorke had made sure there was enough money accompanying the girl to ensure she could stay at the Orphanage, at least until she was sixteen.
There was a long pause, as Pippa drained her mug, scooping out the sodden crumbs with her finger. “What about me?”
Bjorke knew that question was coming, and she still didn’t have an answer. “What would you like to do?”
This shrug was barely visible. “Dunno,” came the uncertain answer.
“Perhaps, you could stay here, while we figure that out.” Bjorke wasn’t sure if she was more worried over the girl staying or over her leaving.
“You mean it?” Pippa beamed at her.
“Sure. We could maybe… fix up my office as a bedroom, hmm? So you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
“And I’ll be super good. I’ll wash dishes and walk Hero and cook and clean…”
“Now, now. Calm down. There will be plenty of chores to do, but you need schooling, too.” Not to mention that the dishes now boasted numerous cracks and chips from her washing up, and Bjorke’s favorite pot had a new, permanent scorch mark from the cooking attempts. “But, right now, you need sleep. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Oh, Mistress Aurelius, this is the best thing ever!” The girl launched herself off the chair, hugging Bjorke tightly around the waist. Bjorke patted her awkwardly for a moment, before enveloping her in a hug. “And we’ll figure out something better for you to call me.”
Bjorke put her hands on Pippa’s shoulders, turning her around and steering her back to the sitting room. “Sleep now. We’ll talk more in the morning.” She tucked her in under the sumptuous pashmina shawl, smiling gently. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”
Sweet dreams. She hid her own worries until she was back in her room. Glancing around, she realized something was missing. Hero. She opened the door again and saw he was on the couch, a thin arm around his back, and Pippa’s face buried in his fur.
Well, perhaps he’d keep her bad dreams at bay. She poured herself a large glass of bourbon, hung up her robe, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her shoulders as she sat up. She was still trying to sort through all the things she and Bishop Cardijn had spoken about the week before. His words kept surfacing in her brain: “Offer assistance where you can.” “You have already let in the Light; you just don’t know it.” “You have not followed the Light, but have you considered you may have found it?” His words had been hard to hear, and she met them with resistance.
But in the end, she’d tried to reconcile herself to it. Enough so that she was able to accept the healing blessings he’d offered over her hand. Enough so that she wanted to know more about herself. Enough so that she wanted that same peace she’d felt in the blessing; in that Light.
Peace. But for now, the best she could hope for was sleep, and that came at the price of a bottle.
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