02. | evening boy

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CHAPTER TWO - K A T H L E E N;
AVONLEA, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND
APRIL 15th, 1879

     LAST NIGHT, THE ATMOSPHERE in the room as I remember it, was certainly bleak

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LAST NIGHT, THE ATMOSPHERE in the room as I remember it, was certainly bleak. My chin rested upon both of my rough palms as I leant against the dusty lucarne, watching longingly at the stars embedded in the indigo skies above Beaumont Close. I never truly had the opportunity to marvel properly at the skies, due to factory pollution in Saint John. It was the first time that I could watch the heavens on such a crystal-clear evening.

One night when I was eight years old, I stared up at the heavens with genuine fascination from the orphanage bedroom window. Of course, it was impossible to see much amidst the fogginess and hazy glow of street lamps, but staring up at what I could see meant the world to me. Maybe, just maybe, I'd think, someone else in the world was looking at the same star as I; because there was a specific star I was always able to locate every night.

I'd read in books that stars were used for navigation, and back then, before my father died, I prayed he would use them to find his way back to me. I know I was furious for being abandoned- but I was lonely.

I must have gazed upon the view of the Milky Way for hours, drooling at individual constellations. I found my star within a second, the one I'd watched for years. It was insane to think I was watching it two nights ago from a completely different place. Look at how things have changed for you, I told myself.

At last I heard the faint galloping of a horse and the screech of a coach's wheels against rocks. Mr. Caulfield. He arrived at midnight, just as Mrs. Caulfield had said.

Oddly, I became alarmed for Miles. Did he not seem to mind that he let himself vanish into the night without his father's permission? Did Mr. Caulfield know? Was this an ordinary occurence? I'd never be allowed to leave so randomly at late evening. What was this boy thinking? I'd get locked out of the orphanage if I were him.

I wondered well about the circumstances of last eve's events- when those two strangers, the evening boy and girl, appeared in front of the residence with baskets and jars. They had pure distraught written across their faces, only to hurry away into the woods with the golden haired boy trailing behind them.

Some peculiar friends that boy's got. I've no right to judge, though, since I haven't any.

•••

I steadily make my way down the staircase, rather anxious of the fact that I am going to meet my new adoptive father. I have heard an abundance of tales from children at the orphanage, sharing their own experiences of parents- some heart-warming, and others quite pitiful. In my mind, Mr. Caulfield is a crotchety, waspish man, who sits at his worn-out feather seat all night, reading the daily paper by the tangerine glow of the firelight.

WE HAD THE STARS! ━ gilbert blytheWhere stories live. Discover now