3. HankerChiefs, Cookies, and Lost Tickets

"Chew! Chew! Chew! With a eedle!" replied Naydia.

"They ate it with a needle?" asked Viola, slightly surprised. "Couldn't they have bothered to ask Chucky Chevre for a fork? And maybe some food?"

"She means sew Miss, not chew," Dolly said, seemingly appearing from thin air.

"Sewed?! Who could have possibly dared to tear it?" Viola asked, shocked.

"Your mother Miss," Polly walked up from behind, bowing.

"Really? Sounds like nonsense to me," Viola said, truly agape and wondering about how somebody so perfect like her mother could have torn her hanky.

"No Miss, I was there Miss! I saw Miss, I saw it, she tore it Miss," said Dolly. Naydia nodded affirmatively, even though she wasn't present as witness to the crime done by the greatest thief of all time- Lady Kertesque.

Viola rubbed her head. There was silence.

Well, blaring trumpets had become the new silence.

Molly came down the staircase with a huge brown leather suitcase in her hand. Molly was perhaps the only sensible servant in the house. And perhaps Polly. And Chucky Chevre, he was such a character that could not be put into either category.

Molly bowed.

"Miss, your suitcase is ready, but Bowram the butler still cannot find the tickets. I suppose you will have to get new ones at the station. And quickly Miss, or your train shall leave you. You can bid farewell to everyone and collect your cookie packet from Chucky Chevre in the kitchen."

"Yes..Chucky Chevre. I had to ask him to keep the trumpets quiet," said Viola.

"Mees e tied and tied ut e oodant eesten," said Naydia.

"Yes Miss. He wouldn't disobey Lady Kertesque's orders even if the Earth spun the other way around," said Polly.

"Okay, so the Earth by chance spins the other way. How would that make him change his opinion about my mother? What has the Earth got do with absolutely anything happening? This is not astronomy," scolded Viola.

"Miss, if you wold just ignore those words for a few minutes. What she really means to say is that Chucky Chevre worships Lady Kert-" began Molly.

"I know, " cut off Viola.

"Yes, so he cannot bear the fact that he has to go against her. Or that she gave him orders but he failed, or she came up with an idea that didn't work," explained Molly.

"A very wise person once said, shoving the truth away will never deny it. Changing what exists cannot change the fact that it didn't exist so before. Covering what exists cannot cover the fact that it exists. Killing what exists will not kill the fact that it once existed. You can stuff it inside a box, but it will never change that it is still in the box. It will hide it, not alter it. Once something exists, whatever you do, it will remain somewhere or the other. Even if you burn all physical traces of the existence of something, it still lingers in the ashes of your memories. Simply put, acceptance is the key. If mother's orders were a failure, they were a failure. You must move on and think about what could have been done differently instead of dwelling on the thought of a flower that shall never cease to bloom," Viola ranted.

She was impatient. Nothing was going right. She did not want to go to finishing school. She did not want to leave. And perhaps that is why her anger was multiplying thus, and this was as of now the only means that she could find of expressing her knotted up emotions.

"Ery ise wurds Mees. Who whash de ise persun who sayd dhem?" asked Naydia.

"I Naydia. I was the wise person who said them."

"Miss, words spoken with great thought and good and careful intentions. But Miss, I suppose you overreact. I suggest you stay calm," said Molly, as politely as possible.

"Do not call me Miss and then proceed to tell me what I should or should not do."

Viola was such a girl, with temper on her nose, and hurtful words at the tip of her tongue, and fire roaring just under her skin. Could her good intentions perhaps cover the fact that her actions were bad? Could her thoughts make up for her presentation? Could her results ever be enough to dismiss her methods?

Viola had always been a little bit annoyed with Chucky Chevre's and actually, everyone's devotion to her mother. She did not envy her, that I can confidently tell you. She did not want that respect, but she felt that there was no point of devotion. Not to human beings at least. Only to God, and your art and your passion. And that is what put her slightly off.

But no matter how put off she was, Chucky Chevre's cookies were always the key. Ever since she was a little girl and someone told her off at dinner, she would rush off through the quiet carpeted passageways, her pigtails flying and her pink little frilly frock blowing behind her in the gentle wind, following the darkness she was never afraid of, because she knew that the portraits on the wall would keep a watch on her, to the very end into the kitchen kept humbly by the family chef. Today she walked those same passageways, with a different grace and outfit, but her purpose was only one. She wanted Chucky Chevre's cookies to pacify her soul.

And as Viola stepped into the well lit kitchen all her hate and philosophy seemed to fade into the darkness behind her. She saw Chucky Chevre making the batter into small balls and she ran over to help. And suddenly, just like that, she was five years old again, her happiness popping like a balloon, and her sadness falling off like a chocolate wrapper. And she didn't have to worry what she was going to wear tomorrow, because she didn't care, and she was never alone because she had her toys and imaginary friends, and she was never fearful because to her the world was a bright and happy place just like in her crayoned drawings. And as she looked up with those big eyes, with a glassy layer of innocence, she was almost there again, until she saw that the glass had cracked, and there was some darkness that had seeped through, and there wasn't nearly enough humanity to glue all of her innocent beliefs back together.