Perilous

Chapter 1. the forest

"If you look too close, you only see trees; but, if you broaden your horizons, you can see the whole forest."

This is an old proverb where I come from. It's supposed to show how looking at the bigger picture will be clearer. If you can see the whole truth, you can make the right decisions, which path to take and what move to make next. We spend most of our lives yearning to see this so-called 'forest', but I'm told most never get to see it. At least, not until it's too late.

I suppose you could say the forest is like the reason for life, or just about any other silly questions the human kind can't seem to find an answer to, but for some reason, this saying in particular has always bothered me. Life is tumultuous, there's no arguing that, but I think so much of life is spent wondering what comes next. Contrary to most, I've never felt this fear of what comes after. I've always seen a straight road ahead, leading me to the next day, the following week, and the trailing year. Everything's always been clear to me, and I think that annoys most people I know.

Of course, I can acknowledge not everything is black and white, but there certainly ways you can make it that way. Everyone has a silent code, a way they live and breathe and act each and everyday, and mine just happens to not include worrying. I see no point in fretting over whether to pick an apple or an orange. It's never been a strenuous task to pick the red or blue ribbon, and it's never occurred to me that some people have such a hard time with living their lives day to day.

That is, until I met Nell Bradley.

Nell, short for Penelope, came from France, like the rest of the settlers who live here. Since she's travelled most of her life, she's used to having so many different choices. I think coming to a place like Mackinac is kind of culture shock for her, we have about 3 choices to her usual 30. This makes her decision making hard, I suppose. She's been to almost every place I could think of.  She's been to South America where it's said they have the world's tallest waterfall, and to the Middle East where she says they have the most amazing Baklava, along with hundreds of other places I thought were just made up. Having the knowledge of all these amazing things must make it hard to live without them.

It's these stories that keep me busy most of my days. I couldn't tell you how many times she's told me about the time she stole four loaves of bread and a bag of apples from a South African Carriage or how many times she's hinted that she may have stolen a few jewels as well. Still, I don't interrupt her. This is, or more accurately, was, her life and she's mourning the end of it. Now, all she can do is sit in my small basket shop and watch me weave mediocre makak. Quite a large contrast.

Of course, a small child didn't travel alone; Nell's partner in adventure was her father, Jacque Bradley. Though I never got to meet him. He died just over a year ago. Some say he was killed, others say he caught the new plague, Red Fever, but Nell has never spoken about it to me. I think it makes her sad to think about him, so I try not to bring it up. She tends to cry a lot when she gets upset, and I'm not the best at wiping away tears.

Like any other day, Nell sits on the edge of the counter now, watching me weave another basket for Mrs. Pelletier who lives down the street, a large, rollicking woman that is married to one of the Councilman, Mr. Pelletier. Mrs. Pelletier is a regular customer, but lately, she's been quite curt with me and my coworkers. Basket making is an old tradition in my culture, and it's meant to take a while as we try to craft it with positive, strong feelings to enhance the object itself. Mrs. Pelletier doesn't seem to appreciate this, though. It feels like she breaks a basket once a week and complains about how long it takes to get a new one. I suppose I shouldn't be complaining, but it's not easy to break a makak, but somehow, she always finds a way.