(2024-05-01) To Whom It Won't Concern

Details

Author:	Jessa
Summary:	Ismene writes to her mother about Southshore. Sort of.
Rating:	T for Teen

Ismene stared at the paper in front of her and wrote absolutely nothing. How do you write about the greatest tragedy of your life to someone who will not care?

Her mother wouldn’t care about Chester the groom, with his haystack hair and slow manner of speaking. He had talked about going off to war, but never did. He had liked the orchard and the horses; for all his talk of adventure, he was a homebody who lived for routine. He told Ismene once that his favorite season was all of them, because there was always something new and nice to see.

She wouldn’t care about the Barnsbys. Mr. and Mrs. Barnsby had served the Callis household for as long as Ismene could remember. Mr. Barnsby had been a tenant farmer, and his rough manners never had smoothed out. He had been so proud to be called a butler, though he never put on any airs. He made sure the household ran smoothly and that Mr. Callis had been dressed well. He had loved his black jacket and took immaculate care of it.

And Mrs. Barnsby cooked delicious meals that were probably a little too homey for the Callis’s pretensions, though Mizzy had loved them all. She remembered Mrs. Barnsby teaching her how to fold fancy napkins into swans, and making Mizzy possets when she couldn’t sleep. The same posset she herself made now for Ben sometimes, warm milk and spices and honey.

Her mother wouldn’t care about the farmers who worked the orchards. Not Gaven Stamper, who could whistle exactly like a bird or Dicken Withers who always brought his dog along to pick apples in the fall. She wouldn’t care about the Newberry family or the Wistons, wouldn’t care that no one would see another weaving from Mrs. Acton or taste another bad apple pocket pie from Abbey Beckkit.

Her mother wouldn’t care that the orchards were gone. Mizzy’s orchards. The apple trees that had sheltered her, given her comfort, given her freedom, were gone. Destroyed and blackened to nothing.

Gone.

You did it, she decided, by writing about what would matter to her mother.

Dearest Mama she wrote

I’m sorry to inform you that the orchards have been destroyed by the Horde. Do not fear for your well-being; Ben and I will continue to care for you as we have done, and we will support you through this time of dire happenings.

All my love,
Your obedient daughter,
Ismene