Penelope’s Pear

Fat raindrops battered against the cracked window as Penelope eagerly gazed outside, eyes locked on the mist rising through the storm. The storm raged and pounded, as if it would break open the window and fill the room with its fury. As thunder cracked and lightning lit up the sky, the small child squealed with delight. Storms were her favorite escape. They always had been.

Penelope had a strange feeling about this specific storm, though. Her bed squeaked as she laid back, trying to understand what this storm would offer her through its groans and howls. Surely, whatever it was, it must be fortuitous. She didn’t have much luck with anything else.

At twelve years old, Penelope was living her best life—note the sarcasm—at St. Mary’s Orphanage. This being after she was taken away from her alcoholic mother three years prior. Her mother had good intentions, but those good intentions never quite panned out. Penelope’s mother loved her hard, but unfortunately, after losing her job and being taken advantage of by an abusive boyfriend, the alcohol became the most welcoming of friends. The most important of friends. A few late nights alone and multiple probation requirements that were never met will get protective services called, and eventually land you in a home for all the other “lost girls” of Lake County, Pennsylvania.

Missing her mother was her greatest pastime, but with the rain came relief. An escape that forced her to think of the more pleasant of times, when she was her mother’s best friend.

It wasn’t so bad. Sure, she lived in the attic with two other girls that would steal her things, and had a creaky bed that sang to her when all she wanted to do was sleep, but there was always a warm cup of tea waiting for her whenever she’d meander downstairs into the kitchen. Sister Margaret, ever so kind, prepared tea for her anytime she was sad or lonely and simply wanted something warm to hold onto. She missed that. A warm hug, or words that acted as a comforter that wrapped you up in the dead of winter.

Now Sister Agatha, she was the cause for most of Penelope’s dismay and bad fortune. Sister Agatha always had something to say, always had something for her to do. She despised the girl, and Penelope hadn’t the slightest clue as to why. Perhaps it was that her bed was never made properly.

“No, no, no, Penelope! Tuck it in two inches from the pillow. Not like that! Why, it’s entirely too sloppy! For Heaven’s sake!”

Or maybe it was the fact that she could never memorize the weekly Bible verse correctly, like all the other girls so valiantly could.

Whatever it was, Penelope knew she would never be able to get on Sister Agatha’s good side. Try as she might, there was just no pleasing her. And so life was difficult with The Sister near.

Penelope lay on her bed, gliding a long, curly strand of strawberry blonde hair between her thumb and pointer finger. She looked out the window once more to find something that hadn’t been there five minutes before.

A small but voluptuous tree had protruded from the ground, right in the middle of the courtyard. On it was a type of hanging fruit, reaching towards the muddy grass. With face pressed hard against the cracked window, green eyes squinting hard, she recognized the fruit: a pear. It was a pear tree! But why…how did it even come to be? How could it have even grown, with absolutely no evidence of being there before? Intrigued, she jumped off her bed and flew down the stairs to get a closer look.

Right as she reached the bottom step, Sister Agatha grabbed her arm and whipped her around to scold her, as was expected for she who bore the name “Penelope.”

“Child, where do you think you’re going? I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You know you haven’t finished your chores for the day.”

The Sister looked displeased, as always, her fingernails digging deep into Penelope’s arm.

“Sister Agatha, I…”

“You were off daydreaming again, weren’t you,” she questioned the girl, eyes darting back and forth.

“I was just going to go outside quickly to check on something,” Penelope hesitantly remarked.

“There is absolutely no reason for you to be going outside when you haven’t completed your chores, especially in this terrible storm.”

“Actually, Sister Margaret had asked me just a few minutes ago to check on the tomatoes in the garden. She thinks they might be ready to pick. And…and we could have them in a nice salad for dinner tonight!”

Sister Agatha huffed. “Fine. You best be quick, Miss James. Once you come back inside, it’s off to the chambers for you. I want them cleaned, spotless! Not like the last time.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Penelope chirped happily back at the Sister, knowing for a fact she would not be coming back.

Penelope grabbed her yellow rain jacket that was hanging up by the front door in the mud room. She slipped her yellow rain boots on and quickly turned the doorknob to exit St. Mary’s Orphanage. For some odd reason, unbeknownst to her, Penelope felt that once she left the orphanage, things would never be the same. The storm, the pear tree, they were both leading her to a new life. She didn’t know why, but felt in her bones that this was it. This was her chance.

The pear tree stood tall as she came upon it. It was much taller than she had imagined it’d be from her window in the attic. Twenty feet at least. With a waxy grey bark, it stood hovering over her, pears hanging merely inches from her rosy cheeks. The leaves were a beautiful olive green, with only a few, sparse, delicate white flowers dwindling away. Hues of green and brown cloaked the fruit as it hung proudly from its tower. Penelope, in awe of the tree’s majesty, edged closer to the one pear that glowed with a golden reverence.

Cautiously, she allowed her fingers to slide softly along the bottom of the golden pear. It spoke to her, bidding her to draw closer, to grasp what could be a new life. With the slightest tug, Penelope pulled the golden pear off its branch and looked at it with her bright green eyes. Up to her mouth, she brought the fruit to meet her lips as her eyes fluttered closed. As her teeth slid through the golden flesh, Penelope’s body grew warm. Warmer than any of the hugs she’d experienced in her difficult life, warmer than a late-night’s cup of Sister Margaret-tea.

Swallowing the golden fruit was like swallowing the light. She consumed light in what she had deemed a dark world. It was as if all her problems melted away, silly as it seemed.

Penelope’s eyes opened and the rain had stopped. She was awakened to a new world, where the sun beamed brightly down onto her freckled skin. A yard full of pink and purple flowers stared back at her, right where the orphanage once stood. The quaintest garden of green beans, tomatoes, and strawberries sat in a corner of the yard, right behind a white picket fence. It was unbelievably perfect. And yet, all too familiar.

Shaking her head, she pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Ouch! Ok, I must not be dreaming if I can feel pain, right?

She looked down at the bitten fruit still lingering, heavy in her hand.

The pear tree…It must have somehow transported me to an alternate universe or something! But where am I?...

At that very moment, a familiar voice drifted through the air to reach her still body.

“Honey, I told you to save your appetite for dinner. I’m making your favorite, you know,” the voice sang melodically. “Chicken alfredo with garlic bread!”

Tiny hairs rose immediately on Penelope’s neck, arms, and back. They wavered with a sense of knowing, reminding her of what she had longed for all this time, attic-bound for three years.

Mom.

Her throat became tight as she choked back tears, running towards her mother who always meant well, who never stopped loving her. For the first time in what seemed like hundreds of years, she felt it.

The warmth.

The warmth that the golden pear had foreshadowed. The warmth of a mother’s never ending, always-fighting-for-you love. The love that was there, even when it couldn’t be felt. The love that was in hot cups of tea when it should’ve been, but couldn’t be in person. The warm love that she missed for longer than simply three years of attic-living.

“Mom…I…I’ve missed you so much,” Penelope choked through heavy tears. Her eyes were wide with desperation and hope as she looked up at her mother, who was smiling down on her.

“I know, Sweetheart. Penelope, I’m here now. Please forgive me…I’ve made so many mistakes, and I lost you because of them…I won’t ever let you go. I love you, Baby.”

Her mother wiped a stray tear away from her daughter’s eye, and Penelope smiled as they continued to embrace under the magnificent pear tree, which beamed with a magical radiance. Penelope opened up her hand that once held the golden pear, but all that was left was a delicate white flower that blew away with a warm gust of wind.