Summertime in Spring Hill

Margery could not find her younger brother Fred.

She looked in the attic bedroom shared with the cousins where her nine-year-old cousin Anthony sat sulking. He had been sent to bed without supper. Hours earlier, he had been caught chasing Grammie’s chickens into the vegetable patch. His grandparents spent the morning settling nervous hens back into the coop.

Margery tried to help. On cornering a hen, she had lost her nerve and shrieked. Grammie had shooed her away with a sharp comment about children being raised to become city folk.

Mother and father had seen off eleven-year-old Margery and her three-year-old brother Fred at Union railway station on board a new steam locomotive traveling the North railway from Toronto. The train started with whistles, horns, and billowing clouds of steam. The children watched as it passed through slums and warehouses. It traversed several busy city streets and neighborhoods with wide tree-lined avenues. The buildings vanished and were replaced by the forested ravine hiding branches of the Humber River. After a time, lazy stretches of farmed fields and wild forests broken by creeks and mills signaled the approach to their destination.

A polite black porter announced their arrival at Spring Hill in King Township. He helped Margery and Fred disembark and brought their luggage to a tall grey-bearded gentleman they recognized as their mother’s father, Grandad Cooper. His eyes shone with delight to see his grandchildren despite a gruff welcome.

Margery excitedly greeted the dappled mare, Rose, who pulled the carriage covering the short distance to her Grandfather’s homestead. With the hustle and bustle of the city, she rarely had the opportunity to greet a horse as her family traveled by tram or foot.

“Come to gloat?” Anthony asked in a black mood, startling Margery out of her reverie. She made a face, stuck out her tongue, and continued her search downstairs. She wished she could spend her time with Rose, the dappled mare. Instead, she worried about Fred.

Margery chose not to tell Anthony how hard Grandad had laughed when he stepped on an egg in the herb plot. Grandad had laughed so hard that he began to cough. Grammie had to take him inside and settle him to rest with a spoon of honey and chamomile tea.

Margery’s six-year-old cousin Gregory sprawled on the floor of the parlor, engaged in drawing with wax coloring crayons. Unlike Anthony, Gregory was fair with blue eyes. A perfect match in looks to Margery and Fred. He shook his head in response when she inquired if he had seen Fred.

“He’s missing. Grandad is asleep, and Grammie’s taking a rest. What should I do?”

“Who’s missing?” Anthony poked his face down the stairs looking for adventure.

“Fred is missing.”

“He’s probably chasing bugs again.” Anthony looked around suspiciously. Satisfied that he would not be caught for leaving the bedroom, he joined Gregory and Margery in the parlor.

Fred was accustomed to roaming the garden and neighboring woodlands under the supervision of his sister or grandmother. With the chaos of the morning, he had been forgotten.

Since Margery had already checked the house, cellar, and attic for him, the children spread out to walk the grounds. An hour passed. They returned after checking every hill and under every bush. There was no sign of Fred.

“What will I tell my Mother?” Eleven-year-old Margery cried in a panic as she burst into tears. There were wild animals in the woodlands. Had Fred been carried off by a bear or coyote? Had he fallen into the creek and been carried downstream to the mills? He could not swim. “We must wake Grammie.” She sobbed.

“Wait!” Gregory put his finger to his lips. They all listened, holding their breath. They could hear a high keen. The sound once recognized was coming from under the porch.

Anthony was the first on his hands and knees, crawling under without being asked. He found Fred sitting in the dirt under the porch wailing in distress. He held what looked like a handful of long hairs.

“Freddikins, what have you?” He asked. If he could calm the younger boy, he could figure out how to convince Fred to crawl out from under the porch.

“Legs.”A word between the sobs. “I tried to pick them up. I broke them.”

Anthony whistled low. The place was crawling with daddy longlegs.

“Gregory, fetch me an empty tin!” He called out. “Margery, stop wailing. Fred is safe. Chasing bugs. What did I tell you.”

“I am not crawling under there.” Called out Gregory’s voice. He had brought an empty biscuit tin.

“Fine, fraidy-cat.” Anthony crawled back out again and returned with the tin. He managed to knock a few of the insects into the box. Fred stopped crying to watch. Anthony gave him a conspiratorial grin.

“Margery’s worried. Let's look at these somewhere with more light.”

Fred nodded and started to crawl towards the opening he had come in through. Anthony let out a sigh. He followed the younger boy out from under the porch.

“Fred!” Margery pounced on her brother, despite his being covered in mud and cobwebs. She dusted him off and hugged him while he pushed her away. Then she surprised Anthony by squeezing his arm and giving him a warm smile in gratitude. “Thank you, Anthony!”

“Legs!” Fred excitedly grabbed Anthony’s hand. All four children sat on the porch with curiosity. Anthony opened the box. With shaky legs, several daddy longlegs were investigating their new abode.

“Spiders! Be careful! They are probably poisonous!” Shrieked Gregory, jumping back. Anthony snickered.

“Fraidy cat. They are not. They are misunderstood; that’s what they are.” He let one dance onto his sun-freckled hand. Fred watched and marveled. Gregory came a step closer and grudgingly sat down. Margery poked at one with a twig.

“They drop their legs to get away when you grab them.” Anthony continued. “That’s why you could not pick one up, Fred.”

The children spent some more time discovering the creatures. Anthony replaced the lid of the tin with a cheesecloth tied with string so that they could keep the daddy longlegs until they escaped or perished. Fred insisted the box be kept on his bedside table that night. Grammie did not mind.

The grandparents were not a party to the afternoon events. They did, however, note a change in their grandchildren. From that day onwards, the children were inseparable. Anthony made less trouble and took charge of Fred who hero-worshipped him. The children formed a strong bond that would lead them through many more adventures that summer.

...

Art Society King, in Ontario, hosts an annual writing contest. This was my entry for this year. Behind every old photo, there is a mystery. Who were these people? What happened next? Prompt Title: Daddy Long Legs and the photo of the four kids (copyright to Arts Society King).