Brimonhive, England
September 1827
"See you tomorrow, lad," Mr. Bran waved, taking with him his filthy long brooms and ladder. After a treacherous day of work sweeping chimneys with his young assistant, Elijah Goode, the man was headed through the town of Brimonhive back home.
"Goodbye," Elijah smiled to the man, his own working broom propped upon his small shoulder, and when he turned away from the older man, he rolled his emerald green eyes with a huff. "I hate this stupid job," he mumbled, and then he was off to his home as well.
Being just eleven years of age, he'd been working with Mr. Bran since he was five, and while the labor was horrendous on his joints and hands, and not to mention his aching back, it was a job he had to do in order to help his mother and father. Still rather small for his age, this line of work fit him perfectly. In these times, after all, he hadn't much of a choice but to work no matter the job.
As he walked the cobblestoned streets of Brimonhive, Elijah smiled to the clusters of other little boys kicking a beaten ball around. Buggies and horses were moving along beside him, and he ran a charred, stained hand through his rose red hair when a gust of muggy wind hurried by. His skin was naturally fair, a bit tanned from the sun, but after work days like this, it left him just about covered in a grey soot from head to toe. Needless to say, his clothing always looked rather shabby even after a wash.
With other villagers bustling about, Elijah slipped through all the commotion and set foot on a dirt road out towards his home.
He and his mother and father lived in a two-bedroom hobble near a farm, and to reach the houses out that way, one had to cross through a woodland path. As he walked alone beneath the tree domed shade, he whistled and thought of his mother's cooking. With his mouthwatering already, he hoped she would have something on the table for when he got home, perhaps a pie. Cherry was his favorite, and he was sure his father wouldn't be there when he arrived. The man worked as a blacksmith two villages over, so his long days away and travel gave him hassle when returning home.
No matter, Elijah figured. That only meant he'd be gifted with the first slice of whatever delicious treat his mother whipped up at home! As he continued, Elijah walked for several more minutes, the evening hue of the sun beginning to retract its light from the shady path all around him.
With his own long broom over his shoulder, the young boy pointed it out in front of him, swinging it about as though it were a jousting lance. For a boy his age, it was only right to have an active imagination. He loved to play with the other children not far from his own home, that is, he liked to play with them when he had the time. They brandished sticks for swords, chased chickens and hares through the fields back home, and boy was it fun!
Since it would be night by the time he got there, Elijah was sure he wouldn't have the time to run about outdoors. Besides, even with being eleven years old, he was still quite afraid of the dark. Yet, he did like to imagine that was his only fear. Darkness brought uncertainty.
"Ah!" he heard then, an abrupt, fearful scream that filled him with fright. It sounded as though it'd come from a small child up the path, and Elijah froze there when the animalistic growl of a canine followed suit.
The scream of terror shook him where he stood, but Elijah found himself moving anyway, running around the bend in the dirt road until he spotted where the shriek had originated from.
Before him, Elijah stared towards a young, blonde-haired boy who'd fallen back onto his bottom. He looked no older than ten, petite and petrified as a massive grey-furred wolf crouched in front of him. Elijah could see the blonde boy was bleeding from his right forearm, a gash clawed into him as it seemed the wolf had pounced but once. Tearful and afraid, the small boy did nothing but tremble as the beast stalked closer to him.
Without thinking, Elijah shouted, "Hey!" and the wolf and young boy looked his way.
Broom in hand, Elijah ran forward, "Get away from him!" he commanded, swinging his only choice in weaponry. Bringing the knot of the broom head down, he struck the wolf's skull. "Bloody mutt, go away!" but the canine only circled back a little to bring some distance between it and the brave eleven-year-old.
Elijah swung the broom again and picked up a sizeable stone, chucking it then but missed his target. The wolf, not seeming intimidated, lunged for him. It rammed up against Elijah's side, causing him to stumble to the ground. His stagger was awkward and his face scratched the dirt when he fell, surfacing a few cuts from sharp pebbles on the ground.
The wolf growled as it tried to bite down on the back of the boy's neck, but Elijah was quick when he brought the stick of the broom to rest across his vulnerable opening. Instead, however, the wolf clamped its fangs down on the wood and dragged its claws along the length of Elijah's back.
Starting from the nape of Elijah's neck, six bloody markings tore down his spine. He screamed out in agony but didn't want to lose this fight. If he died, his mother would cry, and he was more than sure the blonde boy still cowering and injured would as well.
He couldn't let that happen!
With a deep breath, Elijah tried his hardest to ignore the pain in his back, and turned over then to jab the butt of the broom into the open, dripping mouth of the wolf. He struck the back of its throat, causing it to recoil and flinch away.
As quickly as he could, despite his anguish, Elijah found a solid rock on the ground again, chucking it with all the force he could muster. It hit the wolf at the top of its shoulder, and he followed up after with his broom, beating the hungry beast over the head once more.
The wolf yelped from a possible dislocation from the strike of the rock, and disappeared like a wounded shadow into the woodlands surrounding the road.
Pained, but full of concern, Elijah turned to search for the blonde boy. He was sitting on the ground cradling his torn forearm, big, blue eyes teary and filled with enchantment. "It's alright," Elijah comforted, nearing the boy. He knelt before him, meeting the ocean gaze staring incredulous up at him. "May I see your arm?" he asked.
The tentative boy blinked and nodded, not saying a word and held his right arm out. Elijah handled it with much care, seeming to forget about his own dreadful wounds. "This shouldn't be too bad. We'll just get it clean from the dirt and have it wrapped. There's a river nearby." He stood, offering his hand. "Let's go to it together."
Silent as ever, the blonde boy hesitated, but placed his left hand in Elijah's. The grip was mild when taken, and together the two boys went on further down the path, coming to an opening not long after. There was a small, clear river that flowed downwards to the village, and when Elijah brought himself and the boy to the edge, he cupped a bit of water and washed his face off. "I look like a ghost after working with Mr. Bran," he smiled, getting rid of the grey ash. "Bet you thought I was some phantom appearing to save you, eh?"
Still no response.
After the soot from the day was gone, Elijah cupped another bowl of water into his hands and nodded for the blonde boy to join him. He drained out the wound until all the dirt and blood was gone, and then tore the sleeve of his shirt off. Careful as he could, he tied the cloth around the blonde boy's forearm and kissed the knot he made on top.
"My mum always kisses me when I get hurt," he said.
"What about your back?" the boy asked then, and Elijah smiled upon hearing his voice. It was so soft spoken; tender in his fair tone.
"I'll be alright," he shrugged a shoulder, "I've broken my arm once before and I think that was worse than this. I'm sure my mum will scream when she sees it, though. She's quite afraid of blood." Since it seemed the boy would speak to him now, Elijah took the opportunity to say: "Can I ask why you were all by yourself?"
Looking down at the sleeve bound around his arm, the blonde boy appeared to take on a bit of sorrow in his beautiful blue gaze. "I was trying to find my way back home." He then pointed north.
"Then you're goin' the wrong way," Elijah informed with a cheeky smirk. "I've seen you at Mr. and Mrs. Lindborg's house in the village, so you've been headed in the wrong direction the entire time, y'know that?"
The boy met Elijah's emerald eyes once more, taken aback by their wonderful shade and earnest sincerity. "I'm not good with direction..."
"I'll help you," Elijah offered, holding his hand out to the blonde boy once more. "I go huntin' with my father sometimes, so he's taught me a lot about how to find my way back home. C'mon, I'll walk you to Brimonhive to make sure nothing else jumps out at you."
Receiving Elijah's kind gesture again, the blonde boy tucked his own hand into the one out stretched toward him. "Thank you," he kept his voice soft as ever, sounding even smaller than he already was.
For several minutes, they walked in silence until Elijah began to speak. "Are you Mr. and Mrs. Lindborg's son? I don't like 'em very much. Mr. Bran and I go to their house to clean the chimney every now and again, and I don't think I've seen you anywhere but once in that house. You didn't notice me, but you looked a bit lonely."
"They don't let me leave," the boy admitted, his mild hold on Elijah's hand tautening a bit. "I'm not allowed to."
"If I come by and ask for you sometime, do you think they'd let you outside? We could play at my house if you want. Mum makes the best pies!"
"Play?" the boy seemed unfamiliar to the word, as though it were something so foreign to him. "You would want to play with – with me?"
"Sure, why not?" Elijah exclaimed with a bright, toothy smile. "If Mr. and Mrs. Lindborg don't want you to be so far from your house, I could ask my mum if I could come over to the village sometimes. I could even bring you a basket of green and red apples. We have a couple trees on our land that grow 'em, and there's a lot that keep falling from the top when they're done growin'. This Saturday, my father and I are supposed to bring loads of 'em into Brimonhive to sell. You could have some free of charge. Do you like apples?"
The blonde boy nodded, and when Elijah witnessed as a smile worked to curve upon his sweet pink lips, he thought the boy before him looked rather beautiful garnishing a smile upon his pretty face. "I like green apples best," the boy said, "but the red ones taste best in pies."
"Mmm," Elijah's thumb ran a subtle touch at the back of the other boy's knuckles, "I love pies. Do you like cherry?"
Scrunching his little nose, the other boy shook his head, and Elijah gasped in offence. "What?! Cherry is the best! I've got to say, I'm a little hurt that you find my favorite kind of pie to be unappetizin'. You probably just haven't tasted the right kind."
When he looked toward the boy beside him again, Elijah smiled in a playful manner, solidifying his jest and the blonde boy's face hinted a bashful rosiness.
Interlocking their fingers, Elijah noticed how the sun was near its full descent. Almost all the way hidden beneath the horizon now, he just knew it would be dark during his journey back to his own home, but, while he was a bit worried about walking in the complete darkness all by himself, he was just glad to make sure the boy beside him made it home alright. "Hey," he said, twirling the boy around like a dancing partner by his left arm, "I've seemed to have saved your life, but I don't even know your name. May I ask what it is?"
"Jasper," was his response once the boy was turned back around, and the eleven-year-old thought it suited him well indeed.
"Jasper," Elijah repeated, "I like it! My name is Elijah, Elijah Goode. I hope, Jasper, after tonight, you and I could be good friends. What do you think about that? Becomin' friends?"
The blonde boy stopped walking just before they reached Brimonhive, and when Elijah looked towards him, there was a comforting haze in Jasper's eyes that seemed so caught off guard by such kindness. "I would – I would like that very much," Jasper said then.
"Great," Elijah reached out with his other hand, removing a fallen leaf from the boy's brilliant blonde hair. "We'll be friends for as long as time goes on. I'll make it a promise."
Inside Brimonhive by the time the sun went down, Elijah and Jasper reached the Lindborg residence. It was a well-ordered, red bricked house with brown slanted roofing, and when he knocked upon the wooden door, it swung open not five seconds later.
A busty, black-haired woman stood in the threshold. She was fitted in a blue and white gown with her hair pinned up, and the moment she laid eyes on Jasper, she hollered back into the house. "He's here, Mitch. Jasper's back!"
"I found him in the woods," Elijah said, but he bit his tongue when a man with dark brown hair and a round belly appeared. Without a word, he reached through the frame and grabbed Jasper by the arm, his injured arm, and pulled him into the house. The two boy's hands were snatched apart, and Elijah was stunned by the way this man handled the blonde boy. "Don't hurt him!" Elijah shouted, "You big–."
"Shut it," the man spat at the young red-haired boy, "Get away from here, now, pest!"
Put off by the rude assertion, Elijah stepped back from the door, eyes going for Jasper, but their blue and green gaze only met for a quick moment before the door was slammed in his face. He flinched from the loud smack of the wood latching, and the image of Jasper's tearful gaze embedded itself into his mind. It was an image he could never forget.
He furrowed his brow and sighed, afraid that would be the last time he ever spoke to or even laid eyes upon the other boy. He'd wanted him and Jasper to befriend one another, felt as though the blonde boy needed that sort of connection, since the Lindborg house was nothing more than a stale prison of sorts. Elijah believed Jasper needed out of that kind of environment, and he wanted to be the one to burst that shell from around him.
Certain that would be the last time he'd see the blonde boy, Elijah turned his back on the house, walking a couple steps out into the street before he turned around.
He glanced up at the house in his wake and spotted as the drapes of a window on the second floor drew back. Jasper appeared behind the polished glass and he fanned his slim fingers in a farewell gesture. "Goodbye," Elijah read the boy's lips.
"For now!" Elijah shouted up at him, waving as well, and he was determined to make it so he and Jasper would see each other again.
If not tomorrow, someday.