Mr. Withershun Butcher

 

 

Today, Mr. Withershun Butcher and I departed company as he makes his way to his forever home (I realize it’s a doll, but a twinge of strange sadness does come over me). When I first started out making these creatures, I had the idea of writing stories for each of them, a snapshot of their lives. Well, that didn’t go to plan. Things have changed, as they frequently do.  Priorities shift, other things take precedence. That’s ok and part of being human. But rather than letting something sit and decay- or get accidentally deleted (damnit!!!), here is a little glimmer of a man I imagined in a world away from my own. It means absolutely nothing and will change nothing, except, I can properly release myself from one thing and make way for another.

 

A little introduction, my mother first started off writing a story about the first dolls I ever made, Braga and Rishi. This I took and ran. Alice, Wendy and Poppy carried on the story. The final installment: Mr. Withershun Butcher. 

 

 

Mr Withershun-Butcher

 

The customer demographic for The Exceedingly Good Cakes Company was primarily male, purportedly well-bred, and stuffed to the gills with dough. Actually, a few had been patrons of the girls in the old days, they merely shifted their focus and gained a few pounds.  Mr Withershun- Butcher happened to be in that part of the city one day and his mindless wandering turned him onto a corner street. Stopping outside of the shop, he read the sign above the door. “K- s Exceedingly good pies, Enter wanting, Leave wanting more” In bright ornate font embellished with twists and twirls.

 

The bleak grey sky offered him nothing to carry on his journey so favoring his chances within he opened the door and crossed the threshold. Immediately his senses overwhelmed him.  Women cackling with laughter, bells ringing, delicious steaming scents, heaviness and lightness. The tables were fully occupied dominated mostly by men and a few of their wives silently scarfing down their meals. Mr. Withershun Butcher thought he heard a melody of song but discovered once he entered this magical establishment, the confluence of all these sensations played into his mind in the same manner each instrument plays a part in a dramatic orchestral piece. The seated eaters paid no mind to the large man who had just entered while the girls kneaded, filled, cooked, and laughed. He turned around a few times merely to soak up this moment into his mind to refer to at a later point. A women’s voice spoke in the distance, first muffled by his imagination and then again louder and clearer. A voice so colorful, so beautiful, so familiar and yet distinct. His eyes sharpened and the mist faded, his head pointed aiming to the direction of the woman’s voice. If the most glorious, heady scented flower could speak, it could only be with this voice. Every word a scent of jasmine, lily, rose, lavender, with a hint of musk projected into his nose until he felt very much like he may collapse from the onslaught.

 

Earlier that morning, Mr. Withershun Butcher buried his daughter. She was young, effortlessly beautiful, and perfect. His only remaining kin, she was the light of his life and naturally adored by him. Her death came quite suddenly and shook him to his bones. She had not previously complained of any ailments and she looked well, if maybe somewhat pale. She continued on with her engagements and affairs. They met frequently out and about or in their mutual homes. Her husband, a respected and successful merchant was often away or out of the home and she kept everything in order. 

 

He knew his daughter well and although well aware she had them, not her secrets. In his mind, he believed they would both live long enough to see them through and to grow old and mature enough together to learn that the details of these things do not matter. She would always be his daughter and he would always love her in spite of anything she viewed as a scar upon her soul. The young always believe in the thing immediately before them. They haven’t the experience to know that life tends to move on to other things and the world simply doesn’t end during personal crisis.  Many times in their journeys together he would touch upon a subject and sense her withdrawal. Knowing not to press, Mr Withershun Butcher kept these things in his mind box for later.

 

As he now stood in the center of this room venturing back into his box, he fainted onto the worn wooden floorboards kept very clean by Ms. Poppy herself. 

 

A man collapsed in the middle of the shop, not a small one at that. Yet not a soul moved from their chairs nor did they look up. It was as if their life, the very reason for their existence, was held within the next bite. So transfixed by the pie, the world simply drifted away.  This pie shop that sat in a nondescript street in a reasonably well-to-do area of a city on the rise had more in common with an opium den festering away in a darkened slum enclosed by rivers of sludge if one was to judge by the absence of light in the eyes of those who gave custom to this establishment. You might inquire as to what was in the water, but really you’d do well to consider what was in those pies. And maybe, the allusion to the opioid houses was not terribly far off the mark in this respect. After all, there was no getting around the nasty rumors that befell the girls after the thing had happened. Something had to be done. Maybe even Poppy herself became somewhat more casual in her approach. Why lose a good thing over some simple misunderstanding?

 

We could never say for sure, it’s mere speculation. Nevertheless, it was a glass of brandy and steaming hot pie wafting under Mr. Withershun Butcher’s nose when he came to, or the very thing that lifted him back into consciousness.  He was upright in a chair alone in an empty candlelit shop. The sky was dark and seeing the sign which hung in the window with ‘open’  facing him, it could only mean he had been floating in the nether realms for quite some time. He looked  behind him to find a huddle of women eyeing him, their lungs still. Seeing that he was thankfully still alive they soon began to relax and intake some oxygen. 

 

After another of wave of reality set in he discovered that he was not dreaming and spoke.

 

“I’m a man who has seen many days with a face to match. If I’m not mistaken, you look upon me not for my vigor and youth but for some other concern. Please speak so I may know I am not in a sailor’s dream, as I’ve never seen the water and I have no such desire. If I have misspent my life, as I no doubt have, may I be redeemed by this fact: From the day my beautiful daughter opened her eyes onto this new world, I have devoted my life in every way thinkable to her well-being. Today, I kissed her forehead for the last time as she made her journey back into the fairest part of heaven from whence she came. My soul is destroyed, I have no will but to carry out my duties as her father and put to rest the one who is responsible. Is this brandy for me?”

 

And with that he took a hearty gulp and downed it all in one go. The pie he had no stomach for and they absolutely did not insist. They continued to watch him as he regained his strength. There was an unwillingness to depart, yet Poppy sensed a waning interest in her group to carry on their watch. She promptly gave her orders to them and they carried out their chores before the night ensued. Some of them had plans and subsequently ran upstairs to wash and prepare. A few of them were not terribly keen on venturing out at this hour and savored a pipe and a glass or two before they made their way to the upper regions of the house.

 

Poppy sat with Mr. Withershun Butcher for many moments before she spoke. His words still settling in her bosom

 

She thought about her own daughter. A child who only knew her as “Sarah” and whom she only saw once a fortnight during visits as a family friend. Her own flesh and blood. Should some misfortune come Elsabeth’s way, only the fire of hell may attempt to stop her. And with this thought in her head, she ran to the kitchen to grab another glass and the bottle of the finest brandy she kept. Poppy and Mr. Withershun Butcher were still engaged as the sun slowly made its way over the horizon.  Over the course of their discussion, Poppy and Mr Withershun Butcher had successfully drained two thirds of the bar and were still going at it as the girls descended the staircase sleepy eyed and furrow browed not quite ready to start their day.

 

Unquestioningly Poppy and Mr Withershun Butcher would have pursued their discourse if left undisturbed but theirs was a duty to deliver pies to the city and Poppy ended the talk only on the clear understanding they meet again at a later date. At this they both rose from their seats and successfully managed to steady themselves into an upright posture before their legs buckled under them and they tumbled head first onto the floorboards.

 

“This day will be long” were the last words Poppy spoke and Mr. Withershun butcher heard before passing out.

 

 

 

Mr. Withershun Butcher was generally well mannered and lived a quiet peaceful life up until the sudden death of daughter. Even her mother’s death he seemed to handle most stoically, holding onto his toddler during the nights her body could not keep from trembling from sheer agony and sadness.  His only thought was to keep going for her sake, to maintain a steady, secure house for his daughter and help her develop into the magnificent woman she would eventually grow to be.

 

As a man who must maintain his affairs outside of the house, he eventually sought out a housekeeper and nanny to his young daughter. This was by no means an easy task. An over protective father at best and keen to offer her all the world had to give, he spent months enquiring, interviewing, testing, and occasionally measuring the diameter of prospective applicant’s skull. It was by sheer accident that he happened upon Maude, or she happened upon him. It was almost as if the heavens dropped her purely for that purpose and he was most taken by her from the start.

 

She actually turned up one day, on their doorstep, bag in one hand and a big black dog tethered in the other. The dog, Freddie, was very tame and sat on her right foot. To look at her, one might question the frequency, or even the very presence, of a pulse. Her skin was quite grey, almost green. But with the clearest cerulean eyes with speckles of azure, the rosiest lips, unadorned by cosmetic, and the keenest expression he had seen on anyone’s face since the death of his wife.

 

In very few words, and with a voice that was equally both commanding and soothing, she announced the purpose for calling.

 

It had been expressed to her through a close mutual acquaintance (the name brought up being very familiar yet the woman before him had no bearing in his memory) the difficulty in seeking a mistress for his daughter and what a shame the whole affair has been. The mutual friend, whom we’ll call Lady Sowerby for the time, implored her friend who now sits in the parlor of Mr. Withershun Butcher and calls herself Maude, who also abstains from any prefixations as she declares she has enough difficulty with preconceptions and refuses to further muddle the perception of her audience as to her nature in any social standing and prefers to be recognized as simply a human being.  Maude stated she very reluctantly agreed to a meeting, which was not in anyway arranged by Lady Sowerby, nor were any of these details communicated to Mr. Withershun Butcher previously. This was explicitly requested by Maude. Maude had no qualms about turning up uninvited. She wanted to arrive and feel the house as it was and make her decision without interference. 

 

At that, Mr. Withershun Butcher inquired as to her impressions “of the house”. To which she replied, “You run an impressive ship, I’ll give you that. But I do, forgive me, sense great sadness and the light is getting dim. If you keep this up, you’ll be opening your doors to much more unexpected events than the likes of me turning up on your doorstep.”

 

Freddie, the dog, slept at her foot and only now was awakened from the grave sound in her voice as she spoke. He walked over to Mr Withershun Butcher and nudged his head at him in a manner that suggested he wished to be pet. Mr Withershun Butcher obliged and a smile almost crept onto his face. He even put his face against Freddie’s in a kind of Canine/human embrace. Freddie wagged his long heavy tail and this must have pleased Maude because she refolded her perched lips into a bright elongated smile.

 

“It seems despite our best efforts, a friendship may arise out of this business after all”

 

A little while later, a short little sprite emerged into the parlor and darted across the rug, straight to Freddie. Enter Evelyn, the daughter.

 

While the two adults continued their discussion in the kitchen, Evelyn sat by Freddie, never leaving his side. Upon hearing her laughter and squeals of pleasure, Mr Withershun Butcher felt tears welling in the inner regions of his eye sockets. It was a familiar but long missed sound that filled the entire house. Neither Freddie nor Maude left the Withershun Butcher house that evening.  In fact, Maude and Freddy never left at all after the first meeting. Freddy eventually passed away a very senior canine two years before Evelyn joined him. There was a moment where the comforting thought entered Mr Withershun Butcher’s mind as he watched the dirt pile onto her casket, her mother and Freddy will be there to greet her.

 

As a step in mother to Evelyn, Maude was beside herself. She grieved until every ounce of flesh on her body was made raw from mourning. She opposed to be present at the funeral or participating in any of the manufactured process. She kept the home in his absence and unbeknownst to him, began to make inquiries into the affairs of the recently widowed Mr. Thackaray Briggs.

 

It wasn’t as if Mr. Withershun butcher disapproved of Briggs. He honored his daughter’s decision and her will. He offered her no objections and withheld any judgments he harbored deep inside.  Perhaps if he had, it would have made no difference except in their own relationship, losing her sooner than he did. Yet now the idea crept into his skull and he wondered what should he have done? To have her living but be without her, or respect her freedom to explore life in her own way?

 

Well, it didn’t much matter now. In speaking privately with the coroner, whose dissatisfaction came to light, urged on Butcher’s intense feelings of uncertainty. The girl was with child, as it happened, but healthy for all intents and purposes. The wind shifted and the focus on Mr. Briggs intensified. Maude made her own investigations while Butcher began to see a picture before him that churned his hardened stomach and made his blood boil.

 

Maude knew of a strange old couple with a particular leaning towards the esoteric while Mr. Withershun Butcher had Poppy, who so much reminded him of his daughter that he simply could not bare to be without her.  The sudden infatuation was nothing like her dealings in the past. She was indeed partial to this pink cheeked man, face bloated from many sleepless nights immersed in bottles and, never knowing her own father, she allowed herself to dream. Sometimes fantasy takes hold so strong that the world we inhabit becomes secondary and our dreams become a reality. What we imagine and what we desire is more potent than the drudgery and monochromatic existence we find ourselves inhabiting. So our actions are easily maneuvered in favor of this fairy tale and soon we find that our heads rise in a torrent, and we have no means to shake it off, nor is their any exit in sight. Their business was a peculiar one. She sought in him a sense of security that she never knew and he wished to recapture the essence of his offspring.  And so their semi-incestuous affair began. The morbidity never fully acknowledged by either party as together they healed and wrapped their respective wounds.  The outsiders were mildly appalled, of this they were aware, but did this in any way prohibit them from their nightly meetings? I dare say, they did nothing of the sort. For them, the divinity ordained they melded their souls.

 

Maude offered no opinions, as a woman who’s seen many full moons, she was very happy to let be what was to be.  The girls of the pie house sniggered and giggled in their silent corners but secretly vied to experience even a fraction of their depth of bliss.

 

Mr. Withershun Butcher’s head bobbed above the rapids long enough to catch a certain mention from a former colleague. Evidently, for as long as they intertwined beneath the water, the world above paid notice and the evidence strongly pointed towards a Thackaray Briggs. His persecutor, his enemy, the finger pointed. As they frequently do say, “Those who smelt it, oft ‘ave dealt it. The ones who wish to diminish their own mishaps will mislead the crowd by pointing the finger in a place away from their own misdeeds.

 

The world came into view again, the sudden damages evaluated and subsequent sorrows.  Beautifully, however, this was not a sad tale betwixt the lovers, it was a necessary intermission in their lives. A much needed holiday from the world.  This kind of love is not permissive to the world as a whole, but occasionally we all need a damn break. Let us not dwell upon them too greatly. For would we all not understand? Can you tell me, that you see no perfect reason? This fantastic globe we inhabit, for all it has to offer, it does take so much from us. It builds us up into great beings and then crushes our souls in the next moment. It is not cruel, it is life, but my goodness, we are human, we cannot subsist on just the idea of life and its menial purpose. We must have a reason, a purpose, a desire!  If you have nothing but the endless days ahead of you, what is it that pushes you from your bed? Do you even want to eat? These days, these endless days will topple you until they finally end. One must, for their own sanity, purpose, and life, seek out a passion that drives them into insanity. Find the meaning that lifts you into the sky and into the deepest crevices and out again.

 

 

 

 

Braga & Rishi https://vkhornby.blogspot.com/2018/06/braga-and-rishi.html

Alice

Wendy https://vkhornby.blogspot.com/2018/07/wendy_30.html

Poppy https://vkhornby.blogspot.com/2018/08/poppy.html

Maude