The Village

“Come now, Michael!” A flustered old woman, with a tart mouth and stern eye, chided her young charge. She came scurrying down the lane of the little one-way street of the village. Apparently never having been there before, she seemed to have lost her way, and rather than asking someone which way to go, seemed to take greater pleasure in scolding the little boy who followed her, at a safe distance. “We’d never be in this mess if it hadn’t been for you, you stupid boy. Come now! Hurry up!” She caught up her skirts and made a dash across the street, crossing to the other side, and impatiently beckoning to the boy, who was reluctant to cross.

The little boy, clad in the traditional boy’s suit of knickers, jacket, and cap, cast a furtive glance down one end of the lane and then the other, debating on whether a horse and buggy should presently dart out in front of him and run him over, should he venture to cross. His rationalizing only served to make matters worse for him, however, for the petulant old woman shrieked, “Michael!” In such a belittling, shameful way that the boy decided to take his chances and bound out into the road, just as a carriage was racing by. The desperate whine of the horses as they were jerked back by their bridles, a boisterous harangue of curses issuing from the driver, and an overall state of confusion followed, as the boy scrambled to the other side of the lane. With a wide-eyed, blank stare of confusion, he stood there breathlessly and looked at his nanny, awaiting her next scolding in a state of resigned tolerance.

“Michael, I swear, you’re going to kill me one of these days!” Cried the flustered old woman, her chin pinched into a point, her hard lips a frown. “Now, keep up!” She finished, with a warning raise of her brows like a gathering storm, as she bustled her way down the lane again, headlong into her self-paved path. The little boy followed, peering about himself in a mixture of awe and reserve, thankful that he should pass the hurried walk in silence until the next outburst from his nanny.

“Ah! Here it is!” Exclaimed the old woman, clapping her hands joyfully as the next moment, she scowled down at young Michael. “Sundry Lane! That’s where the boarding school is. Now, hurry up! I don’t know if they’ll still take you, but heaven knows I can’t keep you another day! I’ve already had so many pressing matters weighing me down at home. Bless me if I know why they send a woman as old and fragile as myself halfway across the Island to take some fool trash as yourself to this school! Come along, boy! Paying for your education, paying me to be your nanny, paying me to be everything to you—your carriage, your nanny, your escort—what providence! What shear providence that they should bless me with such as task!” She cackled on, apparently to the boy, but in reality, to herself, as she gathered up her skirts once more and shouldered her carpet bag, marching down the lane in desperation.

Michael trailed after the old woman, struggling to keep up with her brisk pace, as he lugged his own travel bag. He was a very small boy and the bag was nearly was big as he was, but he did not complain. Instead, he looked all about himself continually, taking in everything he saw with marked interest, yet a certain reserve, as though he

were afraid that presently, his nanny should rain down another storm of blame upon him and he must keep all his mental faculties ready to validate her with his expressions of remorse and utter responsibility for the present crisis…but to himself, he could not help but look on the bleakness of the day, the hovering clouds, all with a sense of fervor…this he squelched, however, upon recognizing his nanny was about to deliver another tongue-lashing. His mind was immediately consumed with trying to appease her with whatever means were available to himself. From an early age, he had been taught, and in some way taught himself, how to adapt to social settings and please those around himself. He didn’t always have the right word to say, but he did the best with whatever came to him, and usually was able to maintain peace, despite the circumstances. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Grey” he said quietly, frowning in deep remorse, as he peered up hopefully at his nanny. “Is there—anything I can do to help you? Can I carry your bag for you, or—run back into the village and get you some tea?” He added, upon recalling that he had seen a little shop of that nature, as they passed through the village.

Mrs. Grey would not be pacified. “No!” She thundered curtly, quickening her step and drawing herself up with grave dignity. “I don’t have time to stop. I must drop you off just as quickly as I can, and be back on the next train for Liverpool within the hour. Now, come along!”

“Yes, Mrs. Grey,” whispered Michael, lowering his eyes, as he knit his brows in thought. He wished there were some way he could relieve the poor woman, but could think of nothing, as her crushing words gave him little room for redemption. His shoulders drooped, as with a little sigh, he resorted to counting how many steps he took to pass the time.

Along the rugged dirt road, the nanny and her charge sailed on, Michael keeping up with her as best he could. At length, they reached what apparently was supposed to be the school. It looked to Michael more like an asylum, with its ghostly dark-grey visage and its uninviting towers of gloom. Not a soul was to be seen. All was sullen and silent.

Mrs. Grey, undaunted by the glum outlook of the building, glanced up and down its whole a moment before scurrying up to the gate. She pulled at its latch. It didn’t give way, for apparently, it had grown old and rusty with the many storms that marred that region. Grumbling, she threw herself against the gate, making it screech it. It gave way a quarter inch. Fuming, she tried again, banging and clanging with it until finally, it swung open. Hurriedly, she sailed through, down the little foot-path to the great door. She knocked on it, and stood back, turning to Michael. “Now, Michael,” she warned, getting down low enough to be one eye level with the little boy, “I won’t be coming back for you. Your uncle is to send for you when the year ends, and you’ll be home with him on holidays. Your new Nanny, Marta, will come to pick you up at that time, so be a good lad until then, and focus on your school.”

Michael nodded gravely, inwardly joyful that he should not be seeing Mrs. Grey again, but still doubtful and hesitant at the prospect of being so far away from home. He regarded his nanny with wide, melancholy eyes, but tried at a smile, adding to the overall dejectedness of his attitude.

“Ah, ah! None of that, now, Michael. The boys and the schoolmaster here will be good to you, but only if you put on a good front and be amiable. Now, smile!” She turned with a sigh, and knocked at the door again. “He’ll be here any moment, now. Smile!”

Mrs. Grey stepped back, and stared at the door, looking up and down its length with growing concern. She glanced all about the premises, noticing how dead everything seemed. No voices could be heard within. Upon further survey, the shrubbery was overgrown, and there was creeping ivy all along the brick walls of the building, approaching almost up to the very door. The yard was unkept, the grass nearly knee-high—that rusty gate—Mrs. Grey shuddered in disbelief. “Impossible!” She exclaimed, suddenly glaring down at Michael, as though he were the source of this phenomenon. She gazed anxiously about herself, as though to be sure that all was as she suspicioned. “Of all things, why now!” She muttered, scuttling down the steps from the door and back down the path, utterly confounded. “How can it be there’s no one here—no one—“ she gazed back behind herself, as though by some chance, someone should come to the door upon her words—but no one came. “Why did no one tell me the school was closed down? What am I to do with you now? I can’t take you back with me. I can’t just—“ she trailed off, muttering on to herself.

Back to town, the two went, Mrs. Grey uttering various exclamations of denial all the time, as Michael’s heart sank within himself. No one was there for him. He had no idea where he should go to school. The fear of being so far away from home was heightened now by the uncertainty of where he should be spending his time. What if he should be enrolled in another school? He wondered to himself how that should work, and how Mrs. Grey should coordinate her train ride back if she should have to take her with him. He decided he should ask her to stay, if it came down to that, that at least she should not have her departure plans ruined. At all costs, he would not anger her or put her out in any way. In a moment of pity, he hardly cared what should happen to him but only hoped the poor old woman should finally be settled with her plans and have some peace to herself, without having to travel across the country with him. After all, she was right. This was no work for a woman of her age to be doing, and he wondered to himself why his father had asked her to do it in the first place. He had seen far more capable younger nannies in his own town. Surely his father could hire one of them, and let poor Mrs. Grey retire and have a peaceful life in the countryside.

“Mrs. Grey,” Michael ventured to say, after going over the matter in his head for a time, “It’s all right if you leave me here. I don’t want you to miss your train. I’m sure there’s got to be a village school around here, somewhere. Maybe I could stay with a family here and go to the day school.”

Poor Mrs. Grey could not comprehend the meaning of her little charge’s words, so flustered were her own thoughts at the moment. “Stay? Stay—where? I don’t know of a place for you to stay! There’s nothing here! Why, there’s literally nothing for you. This village is as dead as a grave, and I don’t see how the little boarding school kept up until now anyway…no, Michael, I’ll just—have to take you back with me, I suppose. We’ll have to wait for the next train. I’ll have to tell your uncle the school was closed down, and then he’ll want me to take you across the country to another one, blessed if I know! If only I could spend my old age in peace! But no, I have to drag a little child around with me everywhere, bundle up these old bones, and run all over the country trying to find a school! Well, if it’s so important to your uncle, maybe next time he could write the school and see if it even exists!”

Michael fell silent again. He hated to see his nanny so flustered as she was now, but he knew there was little he could do to calm her.