The Orange Blossom Effect

Right where the orange tree grew, there lay a young girl. Her sundress coated with sticky blood. Didn’t matter that she had been reading a book. Or that her straw hat flew away with the breeze. Not even their eventual screams would matter.

Just like that, a girl no more.

They had gone on a quick errand to buy fertilizer. So that the same orange tree would grow even larger fruits. Perhaps have a few blossoms too, if they were lucky. The orange blossom water was quite a success in their hometown, but the woman’s father had big dreams. Go national, maybe even global if their luck were to flow.

Luke snickered.

They already had enough money to line their pockets with actual golden threads.

And then, people like him. People begging to have a morsel of anything other than bread. On days that they could afford bread.

…

A dark alleyway. Young boys gathered round, it was like a community really. A bunch of street urchins, parents would warn their impressionable children. “Go to school, and learn, and ya won’t end up nothing like them”, they’d say to the boys. The girls, it was always, “Marry right. Don’t get knocked up by any of those people. Or you’ll end up homeless with a baby on the way.”

But they weren’t just a bunch of street urchins at all.

Luke, for instance. His parents were the sort of people who would cut a few portions of food for their children here and there, as long as the roulette kept spinning and the whiskey kept on flowing. Seven siblings: three brothers, and four sisters, Luke had. One by one, he watched his younger siblings waste away. It made him frown and furl his eyebrows every time. His little sister Louisa had died. And that was the last of it. Sneaking around at 2am, his pockets bulging with green. He would do it. He would get an education and come back for his siblings and he would give them the life they deserved, not the one they currently faced.

Or how about Paul, who ran away from home so he wouldn’t get beaten up by his eldest sister? Sitting still was not his best talent, and he’d struggle with the letters, jumbled up in his head. Yet, he could read deep into anyone’s soul just by a single stare.

And then there was Ricky. A recent scallywag. His sister, Sally. Scurvy was her curse. But oranges and other fruit were too expensive. So, she worsened. Their mother fell victim to Sally’s birth. And their father, slowly succumbing to the new illness. Bubonic plague.

They weren’t that poor, but not the most well off either. And he had seen smirks from those that his mother warned were the lowest of the low.

Yet, they survived. Through everything that was going on in the world currently, they survived.

And he needed to know how.

For Sally.

…

“Do you know the Oaklands?”

Ricky gave a blank look at his new friend Luke.

“The Oaklands?”

“You know, the Oaklands! Live in that barn on the uppermost hill.” This time, it had been Paul who piped up. “How old are ya, Ricky?”

“I’m 15.”

“Great!” replied Paul, “They have a daughter, about yer age, maybe younger like 14 or so. But that range for sure.”

Ricky’s eyes darted to both of his friends, almost like his eyeballs were doing a dance.

“I…I’m not following.”

Luke gave a smile. Very haunting smile, in Ricky’s opinion.

“She passes by here a lot, so here’s the plan…”

…

Paige Oakland was a girl who knew much about everything, but little about life. She’d go to countless dress fittings, but they were either too tight, not the right colour or too long. Several embroidery classes, which she thought her father was wasting a lot of their money on. Her fingers were not going to get any daintier. In fact, they were full of stab marks of various needles.

A scholar is what she truly desired to be, but in this world? Never was to happen. At best, she would be married to a young fellow. At worst, to an old man with a bursting belly. She was of age, but no one caught her eye.

And then she bumped into him. Her books dropped onto the pavement, and so did she. Paige tried to help herself up, but the young gentleman had offered her a hand. She took it, and felt something warm glow inside her. It could have been indigestion from the liver and onions she had taken the night before, but something told her that was not the reason.

“I’m Richard, but please call me Ricky.” he had said. “You’re a fine-looking young lass. What are you doing here by yourself?”

Paige’s cheeks flushed a rose pink, and their daily walks began. Always at the same meeting point. The fountain facing the alley. They talked about the little they had in common, but it was a start.

Ricky’s ruse was always watched eagerly by Luke and Paul. And certainly, it did start as a ruse. She had a whine to her voice, almost like a cow mooing, he’d later recount to his friends. The mole on her right cheek. And she clearly was trying to impress, which was annoying. His friends would laugh at the hijinks, but always reminded him.

“Remember, gain her trust, and then ask her for the fruit.”

And he did keep it in mind, which is why he never did anything unsightly. It was just chatter; no holding hands even. He did feel a little bad, but he swallowed it down with thoughts like “She represents the people who oppress us!” or “She chose to have your company.”

One day, Paige came crying. He rolled his eyes at first. Really, he had to deal with this now?

“It’s my father! He just hates that I’m readin’ books the whole time! Find a man, he says! Take the men we choose for you! But I don’t like them! They’re putrid!”

As she sobbed further, Ricky tried to think of what putrid meant, but from her reaction, it probably meant disgusting. He patted her on the back, all awkward, not sure what to do.

“So, what do you want to do?” he blurted out. Ricky had no idea why he said that, but something about her cowered position, made him want to hold her close and protect her.

Paige stopped crying for a moment, and looked at his hazel eyes. Her hands wringed, as she tried to find the words for her answer.

“Well, no one has asked me that before. I want to learn, all about everything. All the world. Go places, eat food other than what we eat here.”

She kept on rambling, but Ricky just looked at her. And kept on looking. She was a smart woman, and finally she showed some spunk. Some passion. She wasn’t like any other girl he had ever met before. A tiny smile reached his lips.

She was adorable. He liked her, he could see it now.

But that brief moment hollowed away into a saddened look.

“Paige, I.” She looked up once again. “I have to go.”

“But Ricky, what … what?”

“It’s uh, it’s getting late.” And truly it was, the stars glimmered. “I wouldn’t want for you to be out here for long. Seen with someone … like me.”

“What are you talking about?” Paige’s voice cracked.

But he had already gone.

…

“Listen, both of yous. I can’t do this.” He sighed. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Paul and Luke raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the lass, now have you?” Paul guffawed.

Ricky lowered his gaze from his friends in shame.

“It’s just…let’s say all of this plan worked out.” He took a deep breath, trying to stabilise himself. “Let’s say that I do manage to gain her trust. Ask her for the fruit. My sister gets better.”

“Uh-huh?” they chorused.

“Why would she even want to be associated with me?”

A stillness. Only the whistling of the wind. Paul’s face grew serious.

“You have got all soft on the girl, haven’t you?”

…

Right where the orange tree grew, there would lie a young girl. Her sundress would be coated with sticky blood. Didn’t matter that she had been reading a book. Or that her straw hat flew away with the breeze. Not even their eventual screams would matter.

Just like that, a girl no more.

The Oaklands would go on a quick errand to buy fertilizer. So that the same orange tree would grow even larger fruits. Perhaps have a few blossoms too, if they were lucky. The orange blossom water was quite a success in their hometown, but the woman’s father had big dreams. Go national, maybe even global if their luck were to flow.

Paul and Luke snickered.

They already had enough money to line their pockets with actual golden threads.

And then, people like them. People begging to have a morsel of anything other than bread. On days that they could afford bread.

Get a kitchen knife. Find her alone, and stab her. Kill her and steal as many oranges as they can find. Maybe that way, the softness that corrupted Ricky would also succumb to death.

That was the plan.

But Ricky couldn’t do it. It had been 7 months, and she had turned 15, and they had patched up things from that night.

Now that he thought of it, why had they suggested the Oaklands anyway? Fair, they had money, and they did have the best orange trees in the town, but what was it about them that Paul and Luke wanted to destroy?

And why the daughter?

A stirring in his stomach. Was not hunger, of that much he was certain. Something wrong was afoot.

With his tattered shoes, he ran, galloped to the alley. He saw their smirking faces, something sinister about them that he hadn’t noticed before. Gulping, he walked straight to them.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Ya actually think we were going to tell you?” Luke’s booming voice echoed.

And just like that, they took off.

Cold drops of sweat coated his back.

What was to happen to Paige Oakland?

It was Ricky’s turn to take off. First to the stables, where he threw loose change to rent a horse. A fine steed, brown colour, with a glistening black mane. Bareback he rode to the uppermost hill. At least he remembered that.

When he got there, he ran to the form of Paige. Yelled her name.

But there was no response.

As he reached closer, he saw the stain on her sundress. It was just as his former friends had said.

The tractor coming in, and a shout of:

“Your daughter’s dead! And he is the one who did it!”

Suddenly, Luke pointed at Ricky.

He froze for a moment, then did the thing he knew best at that point.

He ran.

Ran for his horse. The tears flooded his eyes and trailed behind the horse’s hooves.

As he was on the horse’s back, flashes of details came back to him.

“My father takes whiskey back home, the Oaklands are his suppliers.”

“The girl is a little bitch, just like her father.”

…

As he returned the horse to the stables, Ricky slammed his hands on the wooden counter, facing the head of the stables.

“Do you know anything about those two boys in the alleyway?” His voice shook. “You know the one. The one in front of the fountain.”

Luke had said one truth: the Oaklands were his father’s suppliers of whiskey. But he had left a few details out.

That he also partook in obsession on whiskey.

That he blew all his money on it.

That he and Paul were brothers and ran away due to their crippling debt.

That they had kidnapped Paige, and used her for ransom.

All the details locked into place.

They had used him to get themselves out of a tight spot.

And now he was the one who was on the run.

He lost his “friends”. His sister was alone, and would be even more alone.

But he also lost his love.

His eyes darted to a horseshoe that dangled on the wall. Before the stableman could stop him, it plunged into his heart.

Ricky’s last thought before he passed?

“Could I have done better?”