EVERYTHING’S NOT BLACK AND WHITE

by ChicagoTunnelKid

Catherine was outside William’s kitchen because she had come to see if he might have any sweets left over with which she could tempt Vincent. About to enter, she heard an explosion from William.

“Cecil, what in all that’s holy have you done?”

Catherine peeked around the corner with some trepidation.

“Look at the mess you’ve caused! This will take all night and into the morning before it gets set to rights.” William fumed. “Who’s going to cook breakfast? Did you think about that?”

Besides Cecil, a few older tunnel children stood off to the side, way off. Their eyes flickered between William, Cecil, and the entry, as if timing an escape.

In the midst of a sea of white powder everywhere stood a brown and white child that Catherine swore was normally all brown. Cecil was a precocious five-year-old who came Below when one of the Helpers had found him roaming the streets. He had lost his parents, lost everything to a fire in an apartment building that was condemned by the city but had yet to be torn down. Catherine stifled a giggle as she straightened and walked into the kitchen.

“What???” she uttered for effect.

William turned his head sharply, ready to slice and dice the intruder, when he saw it was Catherine. Careful not to disrupt his source of delicacies and basic food when scarce, he dialed back his anger.

“Catherine, you see before you the result of a young hooligan who thought he knew better how to measure flour.” William lowered his head and glared at Cecil. “That’s all the flour I had for the rest of the month. Try to make a sandwich, young man, with no bread!”

“William, to spare young Cecil’s life, I will gladly replace the flour.” Catherine looked at the other children. “But Cecil must face the consequences. Are any of the others involved?” she asked.

“No.” William huffed, then remembered his manners. “Thank you, Catherine. That’s mighty fine of you to replace the flour.”

Catherine smiled. “Just make a list of how much and the type of flour you need.” She knew a few other items would happen to make the list, but she was happy to provide to the community when she could.

She turned to the other children. “How does this work? I’m sure it doesn’t require a council meeting,” she looked at Cecil’s eyes opened wide at the thought, “but I know that something must occur.”

Samantha stepped up. “He goes to see Father,” she pronounced. “Alone.”

Catherine almost gulped at that thought. She picked up a towel lying on a table and walked over to Cecil. She wiped off his face and hands, and swatted as much flour to the floor as she could, figuring What’s a little more. Satisfied, she took his hand, and turned to William.

“I’ll be back later after we see Father.” She looked at the children. “I think it would be nice if you all helped William clean up the mess.”

Choruses of “Yes.,” “Sure,” and one “Do we have to?” echoed as she led Cecil out.

They walked a short distance away, Cecil dragging his feet as if to forestall the inevitable.

“What happened, Cecil?” Catherine was curious how the five-year-old would explain the event.

His lower lip protruded. He walked along saying nothing.

Was he contemplating the silence defense? she wondered.

“If I heard your story, perhaps I could help you tell it to Father to help reduce your punishment.”

He cocked his head up and looked at her. Apparently, she passed, and he began.

“William needed flour. So I went to look for some in the pantry.” He looked up at her. “Do you know how much stuff is in there?” She nodded. “Lots! And some of the stuff is up high and all. So it took me awhile.”

So far, Catherine wasn’t sure what the problem would be. It sounded innocent enough.

“So I gather you must have found it.”

“Yep. On a shelf. I used my tippy-toes to grab it.” He sighed. “That’s when William bellowed, ‘Where’s the flour?’ He looked up again. “Do you know what ‘bellow’ means? I heard Jamie say it about William, but I’m not sure it fits.”

Catherine hid her smile. “To bellow means to say something in a very loud manner, so yes, I’d guess it was a good choice in this instance.”

“Well, he scared the daylights out of me. Didn’t know I had daylights inside me, but they’re out now. So the package starts to fall and it’s heavy, so’s I duck, only it hits me in the head and splits open. Flour exploded everywhere. It was pretty neat, until it wasn’t.” His head hung low at the finish of his story.

“I think you have some mitigating circumstances, Cecil. Definitely tell Father about how William’s yelling startled you, otherwise you might have been successful. Although, with a heavy sack above your head, you might have had trouble anyway. Perhaps you should help with lower shelf items only.”

“Ya got that right!” Cecil pronounced. With the telling of his story to a quiet listener, Cecil seemed to have decided it was all behind him. He started to turn at the junction to go toward the bathing chambers.

“Cecil, you need to see Father before your bath. He is expecting you. You don’t want to be late and make him more upset with you.”

Another large sigh from the small body. “No, Miss Cath’rine.”

She felt she was sending the young boy to his doom. She was curious as to how Father would handle this. She called out to Father before entering. She tugged the arm of the reluctant Cecil and in they walked.

Fathered turned. “Ah, is this the miscreant William tapped to me about?”

“I ain’t no miscre- miscreant.” Cecil glared. “At least, it doesn’t sound like something I am.”

“Well, I dare say we will find out together if you are.” Father motioned for him to move closer, noting the flour all over him and thinking better of having him sit.

“Tell me what happened.”

Children knew better than to not answer Father. So Cecil began his story.

“I gots mistagating sircomestanshions. It ain’t all my fault!”

Father hid his smile under a slight cough. He suspected the tunnel lawyer had been coaching him a bit.

“Well, what might be these mitigating circumstances you speak of, young man?”

“William bellowed!”

Father sat perplexed, but long used to meandering stories when it came to the children, so he sat quietly waiting for Cecil to continue.

Cecil looked to Catherine for moral support before continuing. She smiled and nodded at him.

“I was reaching for the flour he needed. It was up high, and I had to use my tippy-toes. That’s when William bellowed. Scared me right out of my skin, although I seem to have it back now.”

Both adults were biting their lips to keep from laughing. Cecil seemed to enjoy questioning the reality of common expressions, and at the oddest times!

“So the flour hit me on the head and split open. And, whoosh!, there was flour everywhere! It was like a bomb going off!” Because he was five, and a boy, he had to admire the effect of a sack of flour breaking open calamitously. He added, “But Miss Cath’rine said she’d replace the flour, so no harm, no foul, right?”

“I see, I see,” intoned Father. A street kid at the age of five. Too young, he thought, to know such phrases used to cover up misdeeds. He was glad they had found him and brought him Below before a harder life had set in for him.

“You know, Cecil, how seriously we take our food stores. For Below to be a safe place for people, part of that safety is not having to go hungry. Now, we would be short of bread, cakes, and cookies were it not for the generosity of Miss Catherine.”

Cecil nodded. “Am I going to get a beating?”

Catherine’s heart clenched at his words. Obviously, this was a pattern from his young life.

“A beating?” Father echoed. “No, my boy, that’s not how we operate here. But there will be a punishment so that you remember to help more responsibly given your size. Your helpful nature is wonderful, Cecil. You just need to think through what you are attempting to do a little more.

“So, what should the punishment be?” Father stroked his chin in theatrical fashion. “Ah! I’ve got it! You shall read a bedtime story to William every night, Monday through Friday. And it must be a different story each night. No repeats!” He shook his finger to underscore the last statement. “William will come to the dormitory at your bedtime, and you will read to him, and he will tuck you in.”

Father looked at Cecil. “Do you understand your punishment?”

Cecil nodded.

“All right. Run along to the bathing chamber and clean up.”

Cecil didn’t need to be told twice. “Thanks Miss Cath’rine” echoed behind him as he sped out.

Catherine turned to Father. “You handled that very well. Although I am a bit curious about the punishment. How is Cecil reading a bedtime story to William a punishment?”

“Well, my dear, it so happens that Cecil doesn’t practice his reading as he is supposed to do, so this way, he will read a story for five straight nights. He might actually come to enjoy it. And, William; well, let’s say that he could stand to learn more about patience. And it will take patience to let Cecil read a whole story. But I suspect by the end of the week, the two will be fast friends.”

Father arose from his chair. “Tea, my dear?” He walked the few steps to the brazier to fetch the pot of hot water.

“Thank you.” Catherine was amazed. Father’s punishment was a gift in disguise!

He motioned for her to sit, and he joined her. “Don’t look so surprised, Catherine. I’ve had a lot of years of practice, and I’m a fast learner. With Vincent and Devin around, I had to be!”

She finished her tea and stood. Walking around his table, she stopped and leaned over to kiss his cheek. He seemed surprised. She whispered in his ear as she straightened up: “I’ve got your number now, you old softie!” He smiled and brought his finger to his mouth to indicate silence. She winked and left.

As she walked back to Vincent’s chamber, she thought about Father the leader, and Father the man. There was more to Father than met the eye, she admitted. She had withstood his sharp scrutiny of her and her relationship with his son, and now she was seeing the depth of the man who wore the mantle of leadership. A loving protector, she thought. That description pertained to any parent, and his “title” certainly was earned. He loved the children, his people, this community with a ferocity. Yet his demeanor was gentle, scholarly, and usually convivial.

How fortunate that his luck had soured and he had ended up Below. What was surely the lowest point of his life turned out to be the best thing, not only for him, but for so many others. Without Father, there would be no Vincent. Her heart dropped at the thought.

Catherine had to admit that her view of Father had evolved over the years. No longer at loggerheads over Vincent, the two of them had more in common than not. Vincent was important to both of them.

She entered Vincent’s chamber and went directly to him with a hug. He returned it.

She spoke muffled against his vest. “You are the very best of Father, aren’t you?”

“Thank you. That is a compliment, even more so coming from you.” He held her, content to envelop her with his love. “What brought you to this insight?”

“Cecil.” She sighed, loving the smell and feel of him. “I’ll tell you later. Just know that Father will leave incredibly large shoes to fill when he steps down, for whomever must fill them.” This was a topic they avoided discussing directly, preferring to postpone a potentially difficult and painful subject. “Oh, and remind me to get some flour for William.”

They stood wrapped together, each to their own thoughts, with Vincent confident in the knowledge that the whole story would come out eventually, and be worth the wait.