Violet Wensheskey

 by Ellie Kiel

My name is Miss Amy Laurel, and the story I’m about to tell you is how I, an unmarried, old librarian came to be the mother of Violet Wensheskey.

***

I work at a small library in a large town. I sit at my little desk in a corner, reading to help pass the time. Occasionally someone interrupts my reading to check out a book or ask a question, but for the most part I am undisturbed. Not very many people come in my small library, so when they do I pay attention to them. I like looking at and comparing people to characters in the books I read.

So when violet walked in I noticed.

The first time I saw her, her long black hair was lovingly pulled back in a braid and she was wearing a faded blue dress and matching hair bow. She was rather small and I assumed she was about six or seven. I rarely had visitors as young as her. She quickly disappeared around a bookshelf and I paid her no more attention till she came to check out her book.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” I said as I recorded the book. “You’ve chosen an interesting book.”

 “Yes,” she said. “It says a lot about flowers.”

“But,” I replied, “don’t you think the Botanical Wonders of Peru is a little over your head?”

“Well, it might be,” she admitted. “I am only ten.” Then in reply to my quizzical look she said, “I’m small for my age.”

“Even if you’re ten, this is a book that most adults would find challenging.”

“Well then, it should be pretty interesting,” she said with a smile.

 “Child,” I asked, “what is your name?”

“Violet Wensheskey. And yours?”

“Amy Laurel. Do your parents know where you are?”

At the mention of her parents, Violet looked downcast. “My parents died when our house burned down nine years ago.”

“I am very sorry. Where do you live now?”

 “I live at the Twimble orphanage, and it’s not nice at all,” Violet said, tears coming to her eyes. “There are rats everywhere, and it’s always freezing at night, and we’re always hungry. The only good thing is Ms. Mitlwait. She comes once in a while and is like a mother to all of us. She came today, and gave me this dress.”

Violet smiled, like she had been given a ball gown.

From the sounds of it, I thought grimly, that faded dress probably is a ball gown.

“And she braided my hair,” Violet continued. “Mrs. Twimble would never braid my hair.”

“What is this Mrs. Twimble like?” I asked.

“Oh, she is dreadful. We have to beg for our food, and sometimes people give us money, and then Mrs. Twimble takes it for herself. And if we spent it already, she turns us out on the cold street for the night.” Violet shivered. “I wish I could stay here with you in the library and talk some more, but I have to go back. I don’t want to get locked out.”

“I’ll walk with you,” I said, getting up.

 “You will? Thanks!” Violet said, clutching her book.

I locked up the library and we started down the road. Violet led me into the worst part of town. She stopped in front of a building that leaned haphazardly to one side, ready to fall at any moment.

“Here it is,” Violet said, sighing. “Home sweet home. I guess I’ll be going now.”

I watched as she trudged up the steps, then I turned to go home.

***

 You are probably wondering now what my home looks like. I will tell you. I live in a small apartment on a quiet street. There is a flight of stone steps leading up to a dark-brown door. That door opens into the dining room, where two chairs sit around an oak table. I keep a vase of flowers on the table, and that autumn I had a couple sunflowers in the vase.

The kitchen is around the corner. I have oak cabinets and a coal-burning stove. I use coal in the cooking range but not in the fireplace in the parlor. I use wood there. In the parlor, like I said, there is a fireplace, with two large armchairs, and of course, the walls are lined with bookshelves.

There isn’t very much to say about my bedroom. My bed has a red coverlet, and I put my clothes in a wardrobe.

I have many vases of flowers around my apartment, of various kinds, including sunflowers, purple asters, blue forget-me-nots, and forsythias.

***

         As I sat in my small apartment, I found myself thinking, I could put a cot in my bedroom for her, and easily feed two people on my small salary. I shook my head. What am I thinking? I’ve only just met her. Even so, I kept thinking about Miss Violet Wensheskey and what my life would be like if she lived in my house with me.

***

 Violet became a regular visitor at my little library, and the friendship between us grew.  As the winter months approached, she came more and more often. I suspect this was to get out of the icy wind and the cold streets. She was coming almost every day and staying most of the day.

Then one day as winter was at its coldest, Violet didn’t come at all. She didn’t come the next day, or the next. On the fourth day I waited far into the evening. As I locked up the library, I looked down the cold dark streets. “Where are you, Violet?” I whispered.

Finally, I decided to go to the orphanage and see what happened.

But when I got there, I found the building to be nothing more than a pile of rubble. “Ma’am,” I asked a passerby, “do you know what happened to the orphanage that was here?”

“Sure,” she said with a thick accent, “some gov’ment man came, said it t’wasn’t safe, torn it all down.”

“And the children? What happened to the children that lived there?”

“A few of ‘em got took to other orphanages, but most of them ran away to the streets.”

Poor Violet, I thought, out on the street, in this weather, as likely as not. I thanked the woman and hurried back to the library. I waited, hoping she would come. I realized I was lonely, lonelier than I had ever been in a long time. I wished so hard to see her cheery face, asking me what I thought about this book or that. I hated the helplessness I felt.

No one came at all the next day. It was dreadfully quiet. Even my beloved books did not provide solace. Eventually, I closed the library early and wandered the streets, looking everywhere for a cheerful little girl with long black hair in a faded blue dress.

As the sun was setting, I walked home with a heavy heart. But when I turned the corner, who should I find but Violet!

“Oh, Miss Amy, you startled me,” she said, turning around. Her teeth where chattering.

“Where have you been, Violet? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 “On the streets. When I came back they had torn down the orphanage, and I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I just starting wandering the streets. Say, where are we going?” I had been leading her by the hand down the street.

“We are going to my house for a hot meal.”

“Really? Thank you!”

 We stepped onto my front steps and I turned the key in the lock. Pushing the door open, I said, “Here it is. My own home sweet home.” Lighting a fire, I said, “Now you sit here in front of the fireplace and get warm while I make dinner.”

“But—” she protested.

“That’s an order.”

 She obediently curled up in a chair while I headed into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later she appeared. “I’m warm now,” she said.

I lifted an eyebrow.

“Really, I am,” she insisted. “Can I help you now?”

“Come and stir the soup,” I said.

As we were finishing our dinner, Violet said, “This really was kind of you, Miss Amy. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “It was my pleasure.”

“I probably should be going now,” she said, standing up.

 “Where?”

“Anywhere, I guess. Most likely back out on the street.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “You will stay here with me. I can’t imagine you sleeping out on those cold streets again.”

“Really?” Violet asked, her eyes shining. “Could I really stay here tonight? I’ve never stayed in a place as nice as yours.”

“Of course, my dear,” I said, wrapping her in my arms. “You may stay here for as long as you like.”

***

And that’s how Violet became my daughter. She stayed through the winter, and in the spring when the lilacs bloomed, I adopted her. I hope she never leaves me.