A Voice Of One’s Own
“I ’ve never heard you sing.” At last Pearl had appeared when she called for him.
He and his family, he explained, had been out hunting a school of yellow fins.
He bobbed in the darkness of the pond. “Gah, but it is cold here where you live.” His voice had a breathy quality to it, and the gill slits of his throat fluttered when he spoke.
Lala tossed the ball and Pearl neatly caught it, his webbed fingers providing him an advantage.
“I can sing beautifully,” Lala replied.
“Then why don’t you? My people are syreen. We value the beauty of song above all else.” He tossed the ball back to her. It was sopping wet and splattered her.
She shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.”
“Then why do you need the voice?”
“I use it for talking,” she replied.
“You can’t speak without it?”
“I could, sort of. I just didn’t like talking much.”
“Does having this voice make you talk more?”
She shrugged again and threw the ball farther out. Pearl had to leap after it with a flash of his sinuous fish tail breaking the surface.
It was early morning and the sky was brightening. A light flickered in the kitchen window of the house.
“Letitia is up,” she told Pearl, wondering if the woman would miss the purloined scones Lala had stowed in her pockets.
Pearl swam close again. “Just tell them you’re sorry.”
“No. They’ll make me give my voice back. Hey, I’ve gotta go before anyone sees me.”
Pearl watched after her as she ran into the woods. He tossed the ball onto the pond’s bank and dove deep with a flick of his tail.
· · ·
Lala lay atop the stout arm of an old oak tree to spy on the sisters as they took their constitutional. A squirrel complained at her from the branch above.
“Shhh,” she told it.
It dropped an acorn on her head and climbed to a higher branch.
She glared at it, then returned her attention to the sisters.
The oak bordered the back gardens, and though it did not grow directly over the path, it was close enough she could hear Miss Bay’s and Miss Bunch’s words as they slowly strolled along.
“The point is,” Miss Bay was saying, “we all have our own voices.”
“It is a beautiful voice, you must admit,” Miss Bunch replied, “and few can match it, but most ordinary voices are adequate for speaking and singing.”
They’re talking about me, Lala thought.
“Adequate?” Miss Bay said. “Really, Bunch, you should hear yourself when you’re bellowing those awful ballads during your baths. You sound like a drowning whale.”
“Why, I never!”
“I wish you nevered.”
Miss Bunch gave her sister a dark look. “The point is, it belongs to the Fiori. It’s her natural born voice. We all have a natural born voice whether we use it or not. Masking it with someone else’s is like hiding your true self. It’s a deception.”
Lala hadn’t thought of it that way. She thought she’d just made herself sound better.
“I prefer to see someone’s true self,” Miss Bunch continued, “whether that person can sing as melodically as the Fiori, or prefers not to sing or speak at all. Both are valid.”
“Agreed,” Miss Bay said. “Even choosing not to speak is, in a sense, a voice, and it makes the girl no less precious.”
The sisters were well past the oak and their conversation faded.
They’d given her much to think about. Who was her true self?
Mostly she was whatever other people made her to be.
Her grandmum used her for spells to further her leadership of Second Empire.
General Birch had used her as a weapon to kill others. She had always been what they wanted.
It still sounded as if the sisters wanted her to give up her voice, the one from the Fiori, but their words made an impression on her. No one had ever called her “precious” before. Not even her own grandmum.
· · ·
Lala began to feel guilty about her thefts, so when she made her early morning forays to the kitchen, she was careful to wipe her feet on the boot brush just outside the door and sweep up any dirt and mud that she brought in.
She also cleaned up the crumbs from the dense, buttery poundcake from which she took slices.
Then she washed and dried the knife she’d used.
On her way out, she noticed the wood box was low on kindling, so she ran out to the wood pile and carried in an armload. Then she swept the floor again to clean up the debris that had fallen off the wood.
· · ·
One morning she spied the pot and cups used for sipping chocolate sitting on the kitchen table alongside the Trickits board. She missed evenings playing games with the sisters. The games were fun and warm. She missed being warm and longed for a hot bath.
Instead of leaving the house after purloining some cinnamon muffins, she took herself to her room, opened the window, and from there, climbed up onto the gable, and then the roof.
The pirate ship’s mast stood tall and proud above all the chimneys.
From early on during her stay at Seven Chimneys, she had done this, climbed up onto the roof, and then up the ship’s main mast to the crow’s nest. From there, she took in the estate grounds and the expanse of the Green Cloak Forest turning from gray to emerald as the sun rose above the world.
M iss Bunch tiptoed into the kitchen.
“Why are you walking on your toes like that?” Miss Bay demanded. “It’s very silly looking, like a goose in slippers.”
“Our little mouse is curled up on her bed. Poor thing is sleeping like a log.”
“Ah,” said Letitia, who was clothed for the sake of Miss Bay’s sense of propriety. “This is good news. She’d begun cleaning the kitchen after her little incursions. I’ll make up another batch of muffins.”
“She hasn’t turned into a wild creature again, has she?” Miss Bay asked.
“Well,” replied Miss Bunch, “it looks like she cleaned up her face, at the very least.”
A s quietly as possible, Lala descended the stairs. She had washed up and put on her extra set of boy clothes. Now she had to slip out of the house with none the wiser.
The house was very quiet but for its usual creaks and groans. Sometimes she thought the ship it engulfed wanted to break free and set sail, but the closest body of water was the little pond out back, and it was much too small.
She peered into the parlor and dining room, and into the kitchen. No one was about. Once she left the kitchen, she had to make sure she wasn’t seen outside, but she wouldn’t worry about that until she was out the door.
In the kitchen, she hurried to the sideboard and stuffed her mouth with a still-warm cinnamon muffin.
“Good morning, dearie, or should I say, good afternoon?”
Lala froze, then slowly turned to face Letitia, guilt falling over her like an ocean wave.
“I’m—I’m—”
“Have a seat,” Letitia said, as if Lala had not been hiding and stealing. “I’ll broil you a nice steak with bacon and eggs and put the kettle on.”
“But—”
“Sit, dearie. Eat your muffins and I’ll have your food ready in no time. The sisters will return from their constitutional soon and be wanting their midday meal.”
Lala, seeing little alternative, sank into a chair at the table. She’d been salivating for the muffins, but now she couldn’t bring herself to eat. When Letitia placed a plate of food before her, she could only stare at it.
“Try sipping some tea first,” Letitia said in a soft, kindly tone. “Sip some tea and see how you feel.”
Lala took the cup Letitia poured for her. The warmth felt good in her hands. It went down warm, too, and sweet with honey and cream. She sighed, lost in comfort as Letitia bustled about the oven in the background.
She played with the eggs a bit with her fork, then tasted them. They’d just the right amount of salt and pepper. The next thing she knew, she was devouring it all—the eggs, steak, and bacon, and toast with strawberry jam.
“Not too fast,” Letitia warned. “What goes down can easily come back up.”
When Lala finished, she sat back with a full belly. “Thank you,” she told Letitia. “I’m sorry I—”
“Now, none of that. Here come the sisters.”
“I tell you,” Miss Bay was saying as she came through the door, “it’s still too fresh.”
“Then go spend some time in that musty old ship in our parlor,” Miss Bunch retorted.
Miss Bay crinkled her nose. “No, thank you. It still smells like dead fish in there. Millions of dead fish.”
The sisters made much of stamping their feet and hanging their shawls on hooks in the entryway. They did not make a fuss over Lala’s presence, and Miss Bay said to Letitia, “I see you caught our mouse.”
Lala did not know what to feel or how to feel it. She had missed the old ladies. Instead of thinking about what to do as usual, she suddenly jumped to her feet crying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” And she hugged them both hard.
“Heh,” said Miss Bay, her usual disapproving expression much softened. “You are going to break my ribs, girl.”
Lala let her go and sniffed and rubbed away unexpected tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“We are just glad to see you again, child,” Miss Bunch said. “Here, let us sit. My old feet need a rest.”
“It’s the air,” Miss Bay muttered.
“Go inhale some ship,” her sister snapped.
“Humph.”
Letitia made more tea for the sisters and worked at the sideboard, preparing a light repast. They did not bring up Lala’s voice, but argued over who had won the previous evening’s game of Trickits.
“I’d like to stay,” Lala said out of the blue.
“What did you say, dear?” Miss Bunch asked. The sound of Letitia chopping onions ceased.
“I would like to stay at Seven Chimneys. I was so lonely out in the woods.”
“Of course you can stay, child,” Miss Bay said. “If you’d given us a minute, we would have made that very clear.”
“You wanted me to give up my voice, though, and I haven’t.”
“As we can well hear. Tell us, child, why did you acquire the Fiori’s voice in the first place?”
“It was hard to talk and my grandmum thought it would help,” Lala said. “I mean, I could talk, but I didn’t much want to. I did want to be like everyone else, and with this voice I could.”
“I suspect,” Miss Bay said, “your grandmama also had an ulterior motive regarding the Fiori singing to the D’Yer Wall to repair it.”
Lala shrugged.
“Child,” Miss Bunch said, “sometimes there is altogether too much talking in the world. If you don’t wish to speak, there is no rule that you must. It is your choice.”
“You mean I can keep my voice?”
“You are aware we have our druthers regarding your possession of the voice, but we can’t make you give it back. You are, as all people are, a creature of free will. It is yours to decide.”
“Never forget,” Miss Bay said, “free will is everything. Choice is the word, but make your decisions wisely, for whatever comes of them is your responsibility, and it is you who will reap the consequences of your actions.”
Free will was an interesting new idea to Lala. Up until she had run into the wild, others had always made her do what they wanted. But now the sisters were telling her she was free to keep the voice or give it back, but as she made her decision, they advised her to choose wisely.
“Child,” Miss Bunch said, “a simple word of advice? Try getting to know your true voice. It might surprise you at how wonderful it is, and no one is going to judge you for it, even if you decide not to speak. In this house, we will never pressure you to speak. We will love you, regardless.”
“You love me?”
“You grew on us,” Miss Bay said.
“Yes,” agreed Miss Bunch. “It is so nice to have a youngster in the house. It livens the place and gives us endless joy.”
Lala was astounded. Everyone she had ever known, except for maybe Wolfie and Pearl, had thought her strange and dangerous. She did not recall her grandmum ever saying she loved her. It was a new concept that would take time for her to digest.
No more was said of voices. Instead, they ate the midday meal Letitia had cooked for them and discussed whales and whether Miss Bunch actually sang like one.
L ala sat in the crow’s nest and Seven Chimneys spread out below her like a lone island in a sea of trees.
The many gardens remained asleep in their winter beds and when summer came, they’d bloom and burst with vegetables.
Ice glazed the pond. Around the grounds was a scattering of outbuildings and, of course, Professor Berry’s sorcerer’s tower.
Currently, a wood thrush hopped on her head even though it was too early in the season for them to be out and about singing their beautiful flute-like song
During her time at Seven Chimneys, she had explored the ship and house, all the grounds, and in the forest, occasionally disappearing for hours at a time, sometimes joined by Wolfie but often not.
The sisters just told her to stay safe and be home for dinner.
Home. A comforting notion after having been unmoored from any permanent home with Second Empire.
Rambling about gave her the opportunity to quiet her mind and think about her past, present, and future, all that the sisters were teaching her and, especially, the love they showered on her.
Her grandmum had been too busy leading Second Empire to show her ordinary love.
There had certainly been affection and love of a sort, and she trained Lala in her gift to work etherea.
Her grandmum had used her own ability against enemies and as punishment and retribution.
Lala knew she could use hers the same way if she wished, maybe even become the best torturer in the world, but what she really liked was making pretty things with it.
Wood thrushes weren’t the prettiest birds around, but they certainly had one of the prettiest voices.
She shooed it off her head and it fluttered about, then flew around the crow’s nest before heading in a southeasterly direction.
Lala had no idea where the Fiori lady was, but her spell ensured the thrush would find her eventually.
Lala sighed. So, it was done. But what of retribution? The Greenie had killed her grandmum, and she could not allow that to go unanswered.