Sugar-coated
Story by Allison Quaid. Illustrations by Svitlana Holovei.
A logger’s wife emerged from the forest carrying a basket full of acorns. As she paused to wipe the sweat from her brow under the shad of a maple tree, she heard the coo of a little baby. Startled, she looked down and saw a wicker basket. Peering inside, she saw a blue-eyed babe. She looked around to see if the mother was nearby. She knew that no one lived in the forest, or even remotely close by. She carefully lifted the baby out of the wicker basket and cradled her in her arms.
The logger’s wife had tried for a child of her own for years. A miraculous gift from the forest, she thought, and held her tight. The baby opened its bright eyes wide and smiled back at her.
She brought the baby home to her husband, Bullie, and handed her to him with a joyous smile. He, however, turned up his nose and said, “Tsk, another hungry mouth to feed.” The sound of his gruff voice made the baby cry, her red bow mouth wide as she could make it and her eyes shut tight.
The woman rocked the baby, kissed her cheek, and swaddled her in her apron. She found a violet sprig of lavender in the baby’s coppery hair and decided to make it her namesake. She inhaled its dreamy scent and promised to give the baby a good home.
She fed Lavender apples and goat’s milk until she was old enough to walk, and before too long she grew into a bony child of seven. Bullie made her collect nuts from the forest and bring them back to their run-down wooden shack.
One day, reeking of malt as the sun’s morning rays lit the porch, the logger inspected Lavender’s morning haul with his rough hands, and then peered into her hopeful eyes. He slammed his fist down hard on the table. “This isn’t even enough for breakfast!” The woodcutter was never satisfied with what she brought back.
“I’m doing the best I can!” said Lavender, her cheeks flaming.
“Don’t you ever talk back to me!” he roared, “and don’t come back until that basket is full.” He got up and walked towards her.
Lavender looked up to her mother and pleaded for help. The logger’s wife scratched at an invisible spot on the table, eyes wet with terror.
Lavender flew down the porch stairs and into the forest to her familiar squirrel holes and gathered the precious stores of nuts. She was late for school. Again.
That night, with her head on her pillow in her wood-paneled room, she pulled the sprig of lavender from behind her ear, the one with which she had been found. It had never wilted or dried; it was always fresh. She inhaled the soothing, floral scent and fell asleep. In her lavender-scented dreams, everyone was kind and her father was gentle. And the children at school didn’t tease her for her fraying, hand-me-down dresses.
But tonight’s dream was different. A fairy with wings on her back appeared in a swirl of stars. “Tis a clever idea to be nice to others. Everyone likes sugar, it’s so sweet,” she said. And with a flick of her pink wand, she was gone.
When Lavender woke, she felt a lump beneath her pillow. She pulled the pillow away to find a light pink bodysuit made of silky fabric that sparkled like sugar crystals. She slipped inside it, the stretchy fabric hugged her from neck to toes. Had the fairy left it for her? She pulled her clothes overtop. She rushed downstairs, already running late.
“I’m hungry,” Bullie growled. “Check the traps, gather gooseberries, and fry up a hot egg or two on my plate before you leave for school.”
Her eyes flicked to the clock. She opened her mouth to say she couldn’t or she’d be late, but the pink suit contracted, squeezing her for just a moment, and from her mouth came, “Of course. Whatever you like.” Her voice was pleasant, and a little smile broke her lips before her feet took her flying into the trees to get what Bullie wanted.
He shouted no threats or further instructions after her. When she returned, nearly an hour late for school, she presented her basket of eggs, berries, and a slain squirrel on the table before him and said, “I hope this enough,” in that same sweet voice.
Bullie stuttered for a moment, “Fine then. But don’t forget to clean the chimney tonight.”
Lavender nodded before sprinting out the door.
From that day on, Lavender never took off the suit. It protected her from Bullie’s violent outbursts, making her sweet as sugar and restraining her arms when she thought to fight back. The less she angered Bullie, the safer she was. The suit trapped her feelings inside, holding back tears and anger, absorbing them into the pink fabric and making it thicker.
The giant maple in the school yard gave up its leaves year after year, marking the passing of seasons and the advancement of Lavender into high school. She was a popular girl, always willing to go along with her friends’ plans. She was a cheerleader for everyone else’s dreams, and thought only about how she could stay safe.
Her pink suit had started to hold tight around her body, and she had come to realize it had a mind of its own. When a boy sitting next to her asked her to share her test paper with him, fear prickled inside Lavender’s stomach. Cheating would mean repeating the class. She started to shake her head no, but the pink suit tightened around her arm and pushed her test toward him.
“Why are you two cheating?” asked the teacher from the front of the classroom.
Lavender’s cheeks flooded with embarrassment, and she went as mute as her wooden desk.
“You know I don’t tolerate cheating. You’ll both fail the test.”
The words pierced Lavender’s gut. So much for graduating early. She would have to endure another year at home.
Another round of leaves fell off the trees in front of the school, and heavy snow weighted down the branches until eager buds pushed through and adorned the beautiful maple tree. In the spring of her last year at school, a young man with slicked-back hair and a slingshot sticking out of his pocket stood blocking Lavender’s on her way home. She knew him. His name was Rod, and he worked with Bullie.
“Hello, Lavender. Nice to see you again.”
Lavender feigned a smile and picked up her pace, but the suit stiffened, forcing her to slow.
“Wait, I want to talk to you,” said Rod, grabbing her arm.
Lavender spun around, trembling.
“You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” he said, brushing her hair from her face. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”
The suit contracted, taking her breath away. “I need to get home. I need to make dinner.”
“Your mother will take care of it.”
Lavender wrestled her arm free and quickly walked down the narrow forest path.
“Slow down,” said Rod, grabbing her in a one-armed embrace that trapped one of her hands at her side.
Lavender wanted to run, but her pink suit tightened around her torso like an iron padlock.
“I have to go,” she whimpered, but the pink suit had frozen her body in place. Rod put his hands on her shoulder. Lavender cringed. The pink suit beneath his hands felt like a hundred spiders with furry legs crawling over her skin, and she wanted to rip it off.
“I just want to get closer to you,” said Rod, tilting his nose into her bosom.
Lavender held her breath and closed her eyes.
At that very moment, a white owl flew overhead and rained down droppings on Rod’s hand. Rod cursed and whipped out his slingshot.
Free of his grasp, Lavender raced down the path. She heard his feet kicking up leaves behind hers, but she was quicker. She slammed the cabin door behind her and rushed to her room. She was burning up. She pulled and tore at the pink fabric, but it was like a second skin, and stuck firm.
Lavender feverishly tossed and turned all night.
When Lavender did not rise for school, her mother came in. The story poured out of Lavender while her mother held her hand tight.
“Shh, my dear, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
“No, I am not. From now on, I’m going to stay home and help you.”
“Bullie will never allow that.”
“Does he need to know?”
Her mother pressed her lips together and gazed at Lavender’s pink suit, too short on her arms and legs and tattered around the edges. She agreed with a silent dip of her head.
That night, her mother brought Lavender a soft wool blanket that her great-grandmother had knitted for her. The words, Your Truth Is Your Safety, were embroidered upon it. Lavender buried herself beneath it and at last fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Lavender pretended to go to school every day with a wave goodbye to Bullie, but instead, she ducked into the forest to collect food. Bullie, either drunk or off chopping trees on the other side of town, never noticed the change.
Winter melted into spring, and the blue bird’s call heralded warm showers. Digging for wild onions one afternoon, Lavender saw a young man with black hair neatly tied into a ponytail walking through the trees, and on his shoulder was a white owl. A familiar white owl. Lavender pressed back into the shrub to hide. The owl turned his head 180 degrees and clicked his beak at her, but the man continued down the path.
Lavender had never seen him before, and she had no desire to strike up a conversation with a man ever again.
Adorned with a necklace of freshly picked lavender flowers, Lavender got up and resumed her search for food, as hungry deer and squirrels had gotten to most of her usual places first, and Bullie’s traps were old. She had no idea how to repair them.
A long hoot made her look up. The white owl swooped toward her face and then turned at the last moment, hooting at her. It dove again, the wind from his feathers gently brushing her face and then shot off in the same direction. It seemed to want her to follow it, and the suit, as usual, demanded obedience. She jogged after him until she came to a small clearing of grass. A log cabin made of freshly cut wood with firewood neatly stacked to the side. A pair of brown leather boots stood atop a doormat with an owl embroidered on it. Tall pine trees encircled the cabin.
As Lavender feared, the nimble man from the path stepped out to greet the owl.
Seeing her, he asked, “Are you lost?”
“No, I’m looking for food.’
“Squirrels?” he laughed, “you are welcome to join me.”
Lavender waited for the suit to contract, but it did not. It hadn’t been a command; it was an invitation. She smiled, a little giddy, and said, “I would like that very much.”
Inside, they shared a bowl of mushroom soup. Lavender saw his brown eyes were filled with golden threads. He spoke softly, and his smiles held no lechery, no demands. She relaxed into her seat.
“Is your father Bullie, the logger?”
“I don’t have a father. I was born in the forest.”
“Ah, a person of the forest, like me. But you live with Bullie, yes? Why are you so far from home?”
“It’s hard to find enough food before the animals eat it all. And our traps have rusted. They don’t help much.”
“I can lend you some better ones that work better and don’t hurt the animals as much.”
Lavender smiled and continued eating.
When their bowls were empty, he retrieved two traps from his shed. They were cages instead of the cruel, steel-toothed rings that Bullie laid in the forest to crush the limbs of woodland creatures. The man explained how to set them, and she studied the soft curling of his hair.
“You’re welcome to come around again,” he said when he was finished.
“What’s your name?”
“Lucas.”
“Does the owl always stay by your side?”
Lucas chuckled. “Usually. He keeps an eye out for me.”
“Thanks for the traps. I’ll come back … maybe in a few days?”
“You’ll be most welcome.”
With the help of the traps, Lavender could catch dinner with little effort. Lucas taught her how to follow animal tracks, skin her catches, and how to fish in the stream. He taught her to break free of a bear’s grip. With each new lesson, Lavender saw the chance to leave Bullie’s home for good. She could live in the woods, free of Bullie’s outbursts and free of the influence of the suit.
“Why did I never see you in school?” she asked him one day.
“I never went. I do better out here.”
“Me too. Except I don’t have an owl friend.”
“But now I’m your friend, right?”
She blushed, fiddling with the piece of lavender in her hair. Her head was filled with new daydreams: holding Lucas’s hand, staring into his eyes.
“Good,” he said with a smile. “So, like I was saying, these dandelions should help your stomachaches.” He handed her a mini bouquet, and her hand lingered on his. He didn’t draw back. Instead, his gold-flecked eyes searched her face, a question in them—clear as if he’d spoken it aloud.
She smiled in answer, and his face lit up as he bent toward her. The birds sang over the chirping grasshoppers as his lips met hers. Lavender’s heart galloped, and she hid her eyes with her hair as she pulled back slowly.
“Are you okay?” said Lucas. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want to—”
“Yes, it was wonderful,” she said with a bashful laugh.
He drew close to the lavender in her hair, “mmm, what a dreamy scent, just like you.”
She giggled and her eyes beckoned for another kiss. She came back each day, loving him more with each glance of his eyes and every kind word from his mouth. She loved him for asking rather than demanding. For suggesting rather than commanding. When he spoke to her, the suit never budged. In fact, it had started to grow slack from disuse, the threads fraying. The sleeves fell off first, and then the legs shortened, unraveling at the seams. But still, every night she had to return home, and Bullie’s harsh words contracted the last shreds, and its grip held fast. Her mother held her promise and she told him about Lucas.
The scar on her mother’s upper lip trembled as if she were going to say something, but she was silent.
Lavender’s suit squeezed her neck until she nodded with a sweet, demure smile stamped on her face. Inside, her mind screamed that she would have to run now. But where to? Bullie knew the surrounding woods as well as Lucas. She had to go far away, to another wilderness, where she could use the skills that Lucas had taught her. Maybe up north. But without Lucas.
When Bullie departed, Lavender snuck back into the house and picked at the edges of the pink suit. The fabric that remained held fast. She packed her few belongings—a jacket, her wool blanket, and a few old dresses. Next, she went into the woods to retrieve her traps, leaving her satchel in her room.
But when she returned to the house, she saw Bullie’s ax propped against the front. He had come home early. She cracked open the door. Her mother was nowhere in sight, perhaps gone into town for flour. Bullie was passed out on the sofa, snoring. Lavender tiptoed inside. A floorboard creaked. She held her breath, and then moved lightly up the stairs to retrieve the satchel. She would need water, but the canteens were in the kitchen. Back downstairs, she moved to the sink where Bullie’s freshly washed metal canteen begged her to snatch it. She picked it up, but the sides were slick with soap, and it crashed to the floor.
Bullie’s eyes flew open. “Who’s there?”
“It’s just me. We were sent home early today.”
“Get me some water.”
Quietly, Lavender put the canteen in her bag, filled a glass from the counter, and brought it to Bullie.
He grunted his thanks. Lavender headed for the door as nonchalantly as she could.
“Where are you going?”
Lavender stopped with her fingertips brushing the knob.
“I … I thought I’d get a head start on that hog you asked for.”
“Why are you wearing that satchel?”
“Uh, to carry my bait.”
“That’s what your basket’s for,” said Bullie, his heavy brows coming together in suspicion. “Come here.”
Shaking, Lavender complied, the suit leading her forward.
“Where are you really going?”
“Just the forest,” she said, sweet as pie.
“You know I don’t like liars,” he said, rising from the couch, the stench of alcohol seeping from his pores. “You’re not going anywhere,” he slurred. “I’ll catch your ankle in one of them traps if I have to, but by God you’re goin’ to stay put. My friends expect to see you tomorrow. Rod’s real eager. Bout time you made a match and got out of my house.”
“I promise I’m just going into the woods. For you! Honest!”, her body shaking.
“Where’s my traps?” he said, grabbing for her satchel. “Hand ‘em over, ‘fore I make you wear one like a necklace.”
“No!” said Lavender, yanking the satchel away and stepping back in terror.
“What did you just say?” he roared.
The pink suit squeezed tight enough to take her breath and tried to bend her back, make her grovel for forgiveness, but Lavender fought it. She could defend herself, thanks to Lucas.
“Get away from me! I hate you!”
Bullie grabbed for her throat, but she deflected the blow, caught his hand, and bent his wrist the way Lucas had taught her. As Bullie cried out in surprise and pain, Lavender let out a battle cry and knocked him back onto the couch with the heel of her boot.
She ran towards the front door.
“Stop!” screamed her mother as Bullie lunged again at Lavender. She’d come in the back, unheard, and now she stood with a knife in her hand. “Bullie, you let that girl go! She has never done you any harm.”
Bullie gasped, stunned, and pointed his finger in fury at her mother. Thinking fast, her father distracted, Lavender grabbed a trap and inched toward the couch on her hands and knees.
Her mother shrieked, “You’re never going to touch my daughter again!”
“You!” threatened Bullie, stomping toward her as she began to back toward the door.
A click made Lavender smile. The trap she’d affixed to the sofa leg clamped its steel jaws around Bullie’s ankle. She wasn’t sure how long it would hold, but as he howled, she found she didn’t care.
“Mom, grab your things,” said Lavender. “Hurry!”
“Don’t you dare leave me here,” spat Bullie, his voice strained by the shooting pain from his leg.
“Let’s go!” said her mother, rushing across the family room to take Lavender’s waiting hand. An owl hooted as they ran down the porch steps and towards the fence.
The white owl left its perch on the fencepost and flew ahead of them, guiding them in their mad dash to Lucas’s house.
The wooden door of Lucas’s hut broke open and they tumbled into Lucas’s cabin. “What happened?” he asked, turning away from the crackling fireplace.
Between ragged breaths, Lavender recounted the tale to Lucas.
“You can both stay here. If he finds us, we can overpower him together,” he said, locking the door.
“Thank you. We’ll just stay the night before going to my sister’s tomorrow. She’ll be able to help us,” said Lavender’s mother, turning around the admire the high-ceilings and knotty-pine wood walls.
Lavender was shaking. Lucas took her hand and they sat down in front of the fireplace. She spent the night staring into the flickering embers of the fire, turning over in her mind what she wanted to do next.
By morning, she had decided. Over porridge, she announced, “Mom, go to your sister’s, I’m going to stay here with Lucas for a while.”
Her mother regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. An hour later, she stood at the threshold of Lucas’s cabin. Eyes full of tears, she embraced Lavender and whispered, “Your truth will always keep you safe, my sweet baby.”
Lavender took the sprig of lavender from her hair, and tucked it behind her mother’s ear, and said, “A piece of me will always be with you, ever grateful.”
That night, Lucas held Lavender close.
“What’s this?” he asked, rubbing his hand over the pink fabric patches that clung to her body.
“It was a gift of great power. It appeared when I needed it most. Its magic helped me be nice so I would be safe. But now it is a curse.”
Lucas kissed her head as her eyes filled with tears. Her shame, hurt, and pain, long held back, flowed out of her eyes and tumbled onto her pink suit. As she trembled and cried, the remaining tatters disintegrated and slid off. Lavender ran her hand over her arms and belly. She was happy to have her own skin back again.
