Part 3

"Poor son of Earth,

how couldst thou thus alone have led thy life,

bereft of me?"

~ Faust

“Mama?”

Eleanor roused at the sound. How long had she sat here? Judging by the sky, it was probably around seven in the morning.

“Mama?” came the voice again.

Eleanor turned to the little girl in pajamas on the porch next to her, the front door open behind them.

“What are you doing?” asked the child.

Eleanor drew one hand over her eyes and became conscious of Harvest next to her along with Baz. Cal and Des hissed and bit as they rolled around on the flower bed in front of the porch. Fox hovered in the archway twelve feet above and examined a wasp nest.

“Just watching the sunrise,” she told the girl. “Did you need something, Cailyn?”

“No,” said Cailyn. “I was just wondering where you were.”

“Alright,” smiled Eleanor. “Can you go get ready for school?”

Cailyn nodded, put one hand on Eleanor’s shoulder and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She felt the dry brush of Cailyn’s lips on her face. "Go on now. And could you wake up Jack?”

Cailyn nodded again, turned back into the house and shut the door behind her.

Harvest watched her go, “She’s really a very precocious child. Do you think it’s a good thing or a bad thing that she can get ready for school all by herself?”

Eleanor shivered. “How can it be a bad thing?”

Harvest leaned back on his elbows. With his feet crossed before him, he watched the twins chase each other in a circle, trampling the snapdragons that had started to take hold. “Well think about it. Most children her age are still having trouble tying their shoes. What kind of statement does it make about you that she is capable of bathing, dressing and feeding herself?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I have thought about it.”

“She has,” said Baz.

“And what are your conclusions?” Harvest asked.

“I don’t have to share any of my conclusions with you," declared Eleanor.

“Well of course." He was unruffled. "But I was just curious. Did you decide that her independence is a sign of her own intelligence? Or did you decide that she’s learned to take care of herself because she knows she’s better at it than you are?”

Eleanor shivered again. It must be cold out here.

“It’s cold out here,” said Baz.

“I don’t need your commentary on my skills in parenting or anything else,” she snapped.

“I know,” he replied. “But I enjoy the commentary, even if you don’t.”

Eleanor stood and put her hand on the doorknob. She ducked as Fox fell suddenly toward her and then banked at the last moment, narrowly missing the top of her head.

“I’m going inside. You can stay out here… get some fresh air. You don’t have to follow me around all day.”

Harvest stretched languorously and pushed himself up to stand near the doorframe. Baz followed suit, crouching behind Harvest while the twins chattered around their ankles.

“Oh, but I do,” he told her.

As she opened the door Harvest slipped in past her. He thanked her with a genteel nod. Exasperated, she held the door open for Baz, who slouched by, glancing up at her and twisting his face into the particularly unattractive grimace that passed for his smile. The twins whispered to each other as they tumbled past, walking on all fours. Fox swooped in to perch on the banister.

The kitchen was full of the smells of breakfast. Cailyn had pulled the step stool up to the stove and cracked eggs into melted butter. She wore an apron over her school uniform. Baz already squatted on the counter, licking his black lips.

Jack stood at Cailyn’s elbow saying, “I don’t want soft yolks.” He lisped his S’s, so that the last two words were pronounced: thoft yolkth. He had his blanket over one shoulder.

“I know,” she told him. “Can you get the bacon out for me?”

Baz watched like a hungry dog as Jack walked to the fridge. Jack took his thumb out of his mouth to brace his left hand against the freezer door and pull open the fridge with his right. He used the bottommost shelf as a step, reaching into the meat drawer to get what he needed. He was small for his age.

Eleanor stood and watched them. They operated in the complete comfort of knowing exactly how they fit together. They whirled in perfect little orbits around one another. She wondered what gave light to their miniature binary-system. Surely not her. Their star burned out, she told herself. What if they get sucked into the black hole left behind?

Cailyn carefully lay strips of bacon next to the sizzling eggs. She put out a warning hand and touched her brother’s head, where he stood to the side and a little behind her. "Watch out,” she said. “It’s going to start popping.”

“I don’t want soft yolks,” he replied around his thumb.

“I know,” she agreed. “Can you put plates on the table?”

“Okay,” Jack said. “The plastic ones?”

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t think Mother will be eating with us.”

So they hadn’t noticed where Eleanor stood in the doorway. Cailyn never called her Mother where she could hear. Jack had gone to the living room to put his blanket over the back of the couch. He now opened a cabinet door in the kitchen island to pull out multi-colored dishes. Eleanor had put the dishes in the island cupboard when she realized Jack had no misgivings about climbing up on the counters to reach what he needed in the cabinets above.

“Do you want me to ask her?” Jack wondered.

“She’s not hungry,” chirped Baz.

“No,” replied Cailyn. “I saw her a while ago and she didn’t look hungry.” She flipped the bacon expertly onto a stoneware plate that had been covered with a paper towel.

The boy carried the dishes to the large table around which stood six chairs. He placed a booster seat for himself on one of the chairs and climbed up onto it to arrange the dishes. Out of a drawer near the stove, he withdrew two forks as his sister dropped two pieces of wheat bread into a red toaster on the counter. Jack lingered momentarily at her elbow again, looking into the pan.

“Be careful, Jack,” she said, a maternal tone to her voice.

“I don’t want soft yolks,” he told her.

“Yep,” she said. “Is there juice?”

He went back to the fridge and opened it again. “Yes,” he told her. “But it’s full. It’s too heavy for me.”

“It’s all right,” she used a spatula to balance two of the eggs out of the skillet. “We’ll ask Mother to get it down.”

Harvest leaned to whisper, “She’s so much like you.”

Don’t let her be like me. She could hear the twins resume their vicious game of tag in the family room. Was that the sound of tearing carpet?

Jack had returned to Cailyn’s side, considering the eggs on the stoneware plate. “Are those mine?” he asked.

“Mine?” echoed Baz.

“No,” she said. “Those are mine. Yours are almost done. Do you want to pray while we wait for them to be finished?”

“Okay,” he replied.

Cailyn jumped down off the stool. The apron went back on a hook – a clean dishtowel over the food on the counter to keep it warm. They sat across from each other at the table and held hands.

“I’ll say it,” said Jack. When their heads bowed, the twins ceased their caterwauling to stand on the couch. They listened as the boy spoke. “Dear God, thank you for the eggs this morning. Cailyn says the yolks won’t be soft, but if they are, please make them taste good. Take care of Daddy and Elijah and Madelyn. Can I please see a butterfly today? Amen.”

Harvest snorted and the twins rolled off the couch, cackling. Cailyn squeezed her brother’s hand and slipped off the chair to retrieve the last eggs from the pan and turn off the flame. She carried the food over to the table. Jack reached with his fork to spear his eggs while his sister went to the toaster and caught the bread as it popped up. After she buttered it, a piece of toast went to each of their plates.

“Can I have jam?” he asked.

She nodded and went to the fridge. “Raspberry or strawberry?”

“Raspberry." His mouth was full of egg.

Cailyn pulled out the jar. In the act of shutting the fridge door, she noticed Eleanor. “Mama,” she said. “Can you carry the juice to the table for us?”

Cailyn began to spoon jam onto her brother’s toast. Eleanor pulled out the orange juice pitcher. Leaning over the stove, Baz sponged up bacon grease from the smoking skillet with his long black tongue. She heard Jack making a remark about the jam.

“No,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Cailyn asked.

“It has seeds,” he told her. “I don’t like seeds.”

“Raspberries have seeds,” she continued to spread the jam.

“I don’t care,” he argued. “I don’t like them.”

“Then don’t eat them. Mama, do you want Jack’s toast?”

Eleanor had stopped to listen to their exchange. She set the pitcher on the table now.

“No,” said Jack. “I’ll eat the seeds.”

“I’ll buy seedless jam today,” Eleanor apologized.

Cailyn finished with the jam and sat back in her chair. She cut into her eggs sunny-side up and dipped her toast into the yolk that ran yellow across her plate. Eleanor pulled a chair to the head of the table and sat down. She looked from one child to another. Harvest leaned against the wall. She saw Pitchtongue saunter out of the bedroom toward the kitchen and ignored him as he climbed up and over one of the chairs to sit on the other end of the table.

“What’s going on in school?” she asked.

Cailyn spoke first after taking a bite. “We’re learning about space. Did you know that Jupiter has sixty-three moons?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No, I didn’t know that. They didn’t teach us such interesting details when I was your age.”

Cailyn held out her glass to be filled. “What did they teach you about space?”

Eleanor looked upward, trying to remember. She didn’t remember learning about space in the first grade. “They taught us that there were nine planets and their names and that they orbited around a single star. That’s about it.”

Cailyn swallowed the juice she had been holding in her mouth. “They thought they found another planet, which meant they would have to change all the books to say ten planets in our solar system, but it was actually just a planetoid.” She sopped up more yolk with her toast.

“What’s a planetoid?” interjected Baz.

“A planetoid is a gigantic puce-colored ball formed entirely out of Gouda cheese,” Pitchtongue told him. Harvest laughed.

“AND,” Cailyn pronounced, “they say that Pluto is really a planetoid too, so really, there are only eight planets.”

Eleanor considered this, “Hmm….”

Cailyn watched her. “What do you think about that, Mama?”

Eleanor smiled. “I think you know a lot more about a lot more things than I did when I was your age.”

Cailyn smiled back -- kept smiling to herself as she looked down at her plate to cut a piece of bacon in half with the edge of her fork.

“Planetoid,” said Harvest. “Is that even a word?”

Pitchtongue scolded, “Harvest, don't you know anything?”

Eleanor shot him a look. Of Jack she asked, “What about you?”

“We’re learning about fish,” he said. “Did you know there are fish that make their own light?”

“I’ve seen pictures of them,” she admitted. “But not until I was much older than you are now.” Was it strange to feel amazed at the sheer amount of knowledge these children possessed?

“How do fish do that?” Baz asked Pitchtongue.

“They swallow pieces of stale scones that catch on fire in their guts,” he returned.

“Oooo…” mouthed Baz in wonder.

“What about math?” Eleanor questioned.

“We’re doing money,” Cailyn said, bacon crunching between her teeth.

“Us too,” Jack wiped his fingers on a napkin next to his plate.

They seemed so young and so old at the same time.

“Money,” said Harvest across the table. “Now that’s a worthwhile subject.”

“Money is the root of all virtue,” proclaimed Pitchtongue.

Eleanor waited for the children to finish their meal. She noticed that Jack left his bacon untouched. “I’ll clear the table,” she told them when they dropped from their chairs. “Why don’t you put your shoes on?” As she carried the plates over to the sink, she threw the uneaten bacon to Baz, who caught it in his wide mouth.

The children ran, pushed each other in a friendly race to get to their shoes first, pawed through the shoe bin for the right pair.

“Mom,” called Jack. “Where are my socks?”

“In your drawer,” Eleanor answered.

Cailyn stuck her head into the kitchen. “No, they’re not,” she said. “You haven’t done the laundry yet, remember?”

A sudden guilt ran through her. Eleanor went to the front door, where Jack stood with his sneakers in his hand. “Why don’t you wear your sandals?” she asked him.

“I don’t like wearing sandals at recess ‘cause I can feel the sand all scratchy on my toes.”

“Wear a pair of Cailyn’s socks.”

He sighed with what seemed resigned patience. “They’re too big, Mom.”

She bit her lip. “Just a sec,” she said and ran up the stairs. Eleanor went through his bedroom door, flicking off the night light with her toe as she passed. Morning sunlight flooded the room when she pulled the curtains aside. In the top drawer of a small blue bureau that stood under the window, socks were neatly folded in rows. They lay there waiting. She selected a white pair and shut the drawer a little more forcefully than she meant to.

At the bottom of the stairs she handed the socks to Jack. There was a question in his eyes. “Whose are these?”

“Elijah’s.” She bit off the reply, lifting their backpacks from the hooks behind the door. Eleanor saw them exchange a glance before he sat on the tile floor of the entryway to pull the socks on.

“They fit,” he said in a small voice. His toes wiggled inside the socks.

“Elijah had big feet,” Cailyn said by way of explanation and handed Jack his shoes.

“He did have toes like sausage links,” observed Harvest.

“Yum!” squawked Baz.

Eleanor held out their backpacks. “Do you have everything?” she asked.

“Yes, Mama,” Cailyn shrugged into hers and took Jack’s in her hand.

“Did you do your homework?”

“Yes, Mama,” came the reply.

Why do I ask these questions every morning when I always know what the answers will be? Maybe just because they’re the questions that mothers ask….

Jack pulled the Velcro straps of his sneakers across his feet.

“Have a good day,” Cailyn put her arms around her mother’s middle.

Eleanor patted the girl on the back and kissed the top of her head. “Your hair,” she said. “Did you want me to do something with it?”

Cailyn only shook her head. “It’s all right, Mama. I brushed it. I’ll let you braid it tomorrow.” I’ll let you… The girl seemed to know that doing Cailyn’s hair was one of Eleanor’s ways of feeling that she was making a maternal contribution. The twins whooped as they hung from the light fixture in the other room.

Jack stood looking down at his feet. “I hear the bus,” he said with a hint of anxiety.

“It’s okay,” Cailyn reassured him. “We’ll make it.” The girl opened the front door. Out on the front porch, she gestured for her brother to follow. Eleanor stood watching all of it. She felt like she was watching something on television. The boy hugged her leg momentarily and she patted his head with an air of distraction.

“Be good,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he replied, reached for his sister’s hand and they ran down the driveway. Once they turned up the sidewalk they were out of sight.

Eleanor decided to walk down the driveway to watch them. She liked to watch them when they didn’t know she was watching. Harvest followed. Pitchtongue cringed in the bright light. The children stopped at the corner and waited for the oncoming bus. She saw Cailyn reach again for Jack’s hand and look in both directions before crossing the street. The girl still carried his bag. Eleanor watched as the bus pulled up to where they stood on the curb. She saw Cailyn help him don his backpack. It reached down past the backs of his knees, making him look like a small turtle. She watched as Cailyn maneuvered Jack to stand in front of her and only after he had safely navigated the bus steps did his sister mount them herself.

Eleanor lingered at the end of the driveway, waiting for the bus coming up the other side of the street. She waved as it passed, but the children didn’t see her, already involved in whatever they did during the mysterious hours at school. It was strange to have them gone -- to have the house so quiet. She let her hand drop to her side and then closed her eyes against the sun. It burned red through her eyelids.

“Another day,” came Harvest’s voice. She opened her eyes to look at him. Harvest waved at the retreating bus, his other hand resting on Pitchtongue’s dark, round skull.

“Do you think they’ll miss her?” he asked Pitchtongue.

“Of course not,” the reply came drifting back as the two turned to walk toward the house. “She was never what they needed, and they know it.”

Eleanor heard the words and pushed them away. What if he’s right?