The Fall Part 2

“What?”

Flora turned and saw Jax standing still in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms full of blankets and rolls of white gauze so high she could not see her brother’s face.

“You know where our father is? Is Mother there too?” his words muffled by the cotton fabric.

“Your father sent me here,” the broken boy whispered, his teeth clenched in obvious pain.

“Don’t listen to him, Jax. He is probably lying. He just wants us to help him”.

She beckoned her brother to her side with a wave of her right hand. Carefully, he picked his way around the discarded sled and cast-off boots toward the blanket. He had found their mother’s olive-green sewing kit, the sight of which made Flora’s heart ache. Its worn leather sides faded at the corners were held together by a dark brown belt wrapped around it twice. Many a late night, she had sat up with her mother by candlelight mesmerized by her slender hands mending their father’s work clothes. Her mother's voice, both gentle and strong, explained the different stitches and techniques. Never once did she get angry at Flora’s clumsy fingers over the multitude of mistakes she assuredly made. If their father was the anchor in a storm, she was the large boulder that sat in the dead center of their west field for all of Flora's life, immovable and constant.

“Why don’t you just drag it away?” Flora had asked her father once.

“That’s it's home,” was all her father would say.

Just like the farm for them, she thought. Mother and Father should be here. Damn it.

She turned back toward Michael. “And just so you are aware, she spat out, I will help you anyway. Because, unlike you I am an honest person who would not play with people’s hopes for my own gain.”

“I think he fell back asleep”, Jax whispered.

“Ugh", she sighed loudly. Best I get to it then.

Flora worked as quickly as she could. Once washed, the wound did not look as menacing. True, it stretched from his left hip bone to just before his belly button, but it was relatively shallow and only a few centimeters wide. She used the surgical thread they kept on hand for any farming-related accidents, but she did not have enough, so she finished with a bright pink thread at the corner by his navel. Jax questioned her color choice, eyeing the perfectly ordinary, brown-colored option with the arch of his dark eyebrow, to which Flora just shrugged.

She finished trying it off, and after, she sat back and watched his chest rise and fall in deep shallow breaths. Originaly, she had planned on wrapping the gauze fully around the waist of the boy, but as she did not want to disturb him, she settled for taping a large rectangle-shaped piece around the area and covered him with several of Jax’s blankets.

Standing up, Flora stretched her sore muscles, bending her back left and right until she heard a satisfying small crack.

“Would you like tea, Jax?”

“Can I have hot chocolate?”

“I’m sorry, buddy. We finished it yesterday.”

Flora used the royal we, knowing full well that for the last two weeks, while her brother enjoyed the soothing warm cocoa, her mug was filled with only hot water. Supplies were dwindling, and with each passing day Flora’s anxiety grew. But this was something she could do for him. Pain in the butt, Jax loved his hot chocolate.

“Tea sounds great.,” his face betraying the enthusiastic tone of his voice.

“Awesome, Why don’t you go on back to the window, and I’ll bring some right up.”

“But what about…” His eyes darted to the sleeping boy in question.

“Don’t worry 'bout him. He will be out for a few more hours, I should think. Tell you what, I’ll tie the dinner bell to his wrist, and we will know when he wakes.”

Satisfied, Jax gave Flora a wry smile that brought one in return, and shuffled back up the winding staircase to their room.

A few hours had turned into six, and while the sun was giving its last colorful show before rest, the dinner bell dinged. Jax was propped on his pillows reading Huckleberry Finn by the dying light of day. Flora sat just outside the window on the cool grey roof tiles sketching a made-up world of mermaids beneath a deep green sea. Her blue pencil had long since vanished, and well, you know.

“He is awake,” Jax called excitedly.

“Hush, Jax, calm yourself. In fact, I think it’s best if you stay up here and let me question him alone.”

“The hell you will.”

“WHAT did you just say?" Flora admonished, having never heard Jax speak that way before. Sure, she occasionally said a bad word quietly, but it was always strictly forbidden by their parents before.

“I want to come”, he answered obstinate.

“I know you do, but we can’t trust him, okay, and I do not want you falling for his lies. He will say things, Jax, things you desperately want to believe are true, but you can’t. Okay? Father and Mother are gone. I am so sorry buddy, but we need to stay strong.” Flora stared intently into his hazel eyes, their father’s eyes.

Jax said nothing for some time. “Five minutes. Then I am coming down.”

“Ten.”

“Seven.”

“Fine.” She got up and kissed his forehead, which he immediately wiped off making a gaggling noise. Flora chuckled to herself.

“Love you,” she called as she walked out of the room.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jax muttered.

Michael was up and seated on one of the stools at the kitchen island when Flora walked in, the dinner bell untied and sitting next to his elbow. His face was less pale, Flora noted to herself, but Jesus, he needed a bath, the stench wafting over to her in a noxious wave of sweat, dirt, blood and god knows what else.

"You're up." She said obviously as his eyes left the out-of-date newspaper he had spread open and looked over her for several tense moments.

"Thank you for saving me."

"I need to change your dressing." She moved closer into the room which caused him to flinch slightly.

However, he lifted his arms, and she ventured closer to inspect the wound. Having gently pulled the old gauze away, she saw the stitches had held, the skin still red but devoid of blood or the more worrying puss that could signify infection.

Stooping down to pick up a fresh roll of bandage, Flora began her interrogation in earnest.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"Michael."

"So you have said. What are you doing at our farm?"

"Your father asked that I bring you a message."

Flora huffed in annoyance. "Are you just going to tell me things I have already heard?"

"Why do you seem angry?"

"Why are you lying to us?"

"I am not lying."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Oh I don't know, she cried out. I don't know why anyone would say such hurtful things. My father would have come back for us. I know it. He didn't send you. Admit it!" Flora's voice began rising.

"Your father is tall man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. He wore brown coveralls and a red and white flannel shirt the day I met him." Michael began speaking, careful to keep his voice calm and even.

"You could have seen any number of pictures of him around, Flora gestured her hands to the whole house, and, well, guessed the clothes."

"But I didn't."

"So you say."

"Oh, give it a rest, Flora." Jax watched the two teenagers spar long enough.

"Now Jax", but her brother cut her off.

He walked around his angry older sister and sat next to Michael on the left stool.

"I'm Jax, this is Flora, and we are happy you didn't die."

Michael smiled. "It is very nice to meet you both, and I am sorry about all the mess."

"It's ok, Flora will clean it up," he laughed.

A sound like a dragon's puff escaped his sisters nose.

"Where did you come from? How did you get hurt? Are you hungry? We don't have hot chocolate. Would you like some water? What did my dad say?" Questions were rattling out of his mouth in rapid succession.

"Woah, buddy, that's a lot of questions. And I will answer them all, I promise."

He looked back and forth at the siblings. He saw a lot of their father in little Jax. He had the same eyes and the same unruly dark blonde hair. He was in his youthful stage of chubbiness but could tell in a few summers, he'd probably lean out. Flora, on the other hand was the night to Jax's day. Long dark hair, slender, with bright green eyes, she resembled the woman in the picture frame above the stove, which he confidently assumed was their mother.

"But, first, he spoke softer now, there is someone I'd like you both to meet."