Bluebells And Blushes

Chapter 5

       The next morning I had woken stiff, cold and tired so I got up and hobbled to my small cottage. It was still very early and I stumbled along the paths tripping over rocks and roots, shivering from the brisk, crisp morning air. My cottage wasn't really a cottage per say, it used to be a shed but I fixed it up.

       By the time I got there my hands were so stiff and cold I could barely open the door. When it finally opened I shuffled in the dark one roomed house until I had found my cot. I collapsed onto it pulling the threadbare blanket over my legs and onto my chest, passing out instantly.

        I rose later in the day at what I guessed to be around 10 A.M. Before I'd fallen asleep I must have taken off my coat because it was hanging on my "coat-rack" basically just a nail in the wall. I grabbed it and put it on rushing out the door to get to work.

     That's when I heard the screaming, I jolted into a run towards the noise and when I got there I was surprised to see a baby bunny with it's front leg caught in a trap. Not two months ago Sir Benedict had hired an exterminator to put up various traps among the garden. Of course I had been completely against that idea, but my word doesn't have much power. I rushed to it dropping onto my knees and gingerly undoing the trap placing the bunny onto my lap, cooing and petting it, reassuring that it would be okay. While it snuggled into me I took out the notebook I always carried in the right hand inner pocket of my coat. I grabbed my pencil out of the opposite pocket and wrote down " Rabbits, when in pain can scream like humans." I shoved both things back into my pockets gently picked up the bunny and brought it to "my" part of the garden. Sir Benedict doesn't know about the secret patches of herbs in the back of the garden, all of them have medicinal values and to make some extra money I sell them to the odd traveler that passes through.

     I placed the bunny onto the ground and started searching for some comfrey leaves. When made into a paste, they can be exceptional for bruising. With it I also picked some sage for the inflammation, valerian root for pain, and and some cloves for fever and infection.

      Once again the bunny is held in my arms and the herbs are bunched into my fist. I was worried that the bunny might have broken it's leg but it could limp so I don't think it was. I hurry along the path to one of the greenhouses to make the poultice. Taking the right hand trail towards the roses and lily portion of the garden. From there I would have to take one left into the carrot patch (which reminded me that I needed to put up a fence to keep the stray hare from eating all of them.) Then One more left and I would be right in front of the greenhouse.

      When I get there I go to the far right table at the end. Underneath I found what I was searching for, a stone mortar and pestle to crush the herbs before I soak them. I place the bunny into a basket on the table opposite to me and grab a bucket on my way outside. A little father away would take me to the old water pump. It was once a brilliant copper but it had lost its metallic sheen awhile back. Now it took on a minty green hue. This was one of the 3 water pumps that I used for the garden. All of them were copper and even though the water had quite an undesirable taste I've gotten used to it. I fill the bucket to the brim and lug it back to the bunny.

      Back at the table I crush the herbs adding only a few drops of water at a time until it turns into a paste. My fathers mother was a nurse so he had taught me everything he knew. Even after he had died I continued to gather information about the subject.  I apply the paste to a bandage and carefully wrap it around the bunny's front leg. After the bandage is securely applied the bunny is returned to the basket.  I decided that the safest place for my new friend was my house. As I was walking the o' so familiar paths back to the cottage I broke from reality and delved deep into my memories.

     I didn't have one bad memory of my parents, they never hit nor yelled too much because of course I, was an angel child. I didn't know as much about my mother's family than I did my father's. My grandfather had come here from Bristol when he was 23 soon before he met my Grandmother who was, like my Mum, a maid. They got married and had my father only a year and a half later. My grandmother had been a nurse before she was a maid so she was very knowledgeable about the art of healing. From what I remember my mother had said her family had sold her to the Greenwood household when she was eight but she never really gave me any details. I suppose some wounds never fully heal. When I got to the cottage I rummaged through the one cabinet I had for my only bowl. When I had found that, I filled it up with water left over in the kettle atop my small stove-oven. I grabbed some old rags and arranged them into what sort of resembled a nest. I placed the water bowl and the carrots I had picked on my way from the greenhouse to the cottage beside the "nest" and lifted the bunny from its basket onto the blanket. I knelt down and grinned at the rabbit, "I dub thee Sir Peter." Rubbing his back and head I swear I saw Peter smile. When I saw his cute little head burrow into the blanket I smiled thinking back to those cold winter nights when my father would make a fire and my mom and I would snuggle deep into the covers, listening to my fathers magical fairy tales. 

      My home was nothing gawk at (except maybe at it's minuscule size.) It had an old wooden bed-frame with a lumpy straw filled mattress. An old rickety wood stove stood in the corner. Crooked stove pipe going through the roof ending in a small stone chimney. The outside of my home is made of dull grey stone. Morning Glory vines creep up the wall and in the spring they bloom with sky blue flowers. In the winter I'll have a small wood pile to fuel my stove and in the spring the pile is replaced with flower pots and tools. I only have one window facing the forest where the garden ends. But I suppose I shouldn't complain. There are always people who have it worse.

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Hi so any nice criticism is much appreciated but please don't insult every aspect of my writing. I enjoyed this chapter so yeah.

-Ruby