Hidden Lake

Pansy was 18 months old the day Mama slithered the blue ribbon from her drifting hair and tied Pansy’s wrist to the suitcase on the back porch. Mama almost blew away with the curls, until Papa took his hands from his hips and raised his palms in submission. The ribbon released its bite on the chubby little wrist and tamed the curls back in place. Mama scooped her up and gusted back inside, leaving the suitcase for Papa.

The next day Papa began to build the fence that would protect Pansy from the vicious licks of Hidden Lake. Neighbors stopped by to hammer and saw and soon the lake was cut in half as Pansy scooted to the edge of the window for a one-eyed view of the fading blue. Mama bustled about, serving food and drinks, while Grandpa kept Pansy busy telling her stories of sharp things and little fingers.

That was when Pansy found out about the scar. Grandpa told her an apple fell on her head while she and Mama were napping under the tree last summer. She touched her head and then the window, where her finger covered the last of the lake. When she pulled it away, the fence was complete and Mama stood behind her and cried.

Pansy was 14 when Papa told her that Mama was sad because she couldn’t see the water; that all she ever wanted was a cottage near the water and a beautiful baby to hold. She didn’t realize the baby would awaken all her fears and an ugly scar wouldn’t let her forget her mistakes. Pansy asked why they didn’t take down the fence when she grew older. Papa told her it kept her safe from men.

Upstairs in Grandpa’s room, the only one with a view of the lake, Pansy learned of Clara. He told her Clara could take away the scar and end her mother’s pain, so Pansy set out right away for the shack at the end of the lake. She used one of Mama’s ribbons over the gate latch, so she could reach it when she returned.

Clara told Pansy to take three eyeless potatoes and bury them under the apple tree on the South side during the next half-moon. Pansy searched the cellar and every potato was covered in eyes. She carried three she liked best and carefully removed the eyes with Grandpa’s fishing knife before she buried them under the tree. She checked the mirror every day and the scar remained the same.

Mama stayed in her room with a view of Prisoner’s Hill, while Pansy crept away each afternoon to play with the neighborhood boys. She soon forgot the spell and was captured in the eyes of Christian Heath. He called her Johnny Jump-up and said she too petite to be a real Pansy. She thought she might drown in his eyes until she discovered his mouth could stop her heart.

Papa promised the fence would come down when she turned sixteen, but then he discovered Mama’s ribbon. He stormed past Grandpa and Pansy playing checkers on the porch, and banged right up to Mama’s room. Pansy stood to follow, and Grandpa captured her fragile wrist and nodded his head for her to sit. The shouting didn’t last long, and soon the screen door clanked open and Mama emerged with her suitcase and a smile that chased away the years. She walked through the open gate and Papa stood firm, hands on hips. He glanced at the board and asked, “Who’s winning?”

This story was written after requesting writing prompts on Twitter.