FOX RIVER’S PERSEPHONE by Lucy Mills (Short story

FOX RIVER’S PERSEPHONE by LUCY MILLS

The wealthy Andertons were envied and esteemed by the rest of high society, a family befitting of the equally idyllic Fox River Estate. The elegant manor had a south facing parlor with lovely French doors that, when opened to let in the soft breeze and serene views of the grounds, created a perfect environment to host the ladies of the area for tea on days that allowed it.

Unfortunately, the late August afternoon which would be so perfect for this kind of occasion was overshadowed by a somber mood. In the place of her usual guests, Lady Anderton was hosting two prestigious-looking men dressed in dull colors and serious

expressions. To young Charlotte Anderton, known aectionately by her family as Lottie, the worst part of all this was the absence of her sister’s comforting energy. An absence which was the very reason for the presence of the unfamiliar men in the lovely mansion’s parlor. “As I understand, your daughter’s disappearance was in the wake of preparations for her marriage, correct?” the lead private investigator droned. To Lottie, the man’s manner of speaking was frustrating, to say the least. She wanted more than anything to know more about the disappearance of her closest confidant and friend, but the investigator’s slow explanations between long drags of his pipe made even this discussion mind numbing. Her mother always said impatience was her greatest vice; Lottie would argue that this could be avoided if her patience wasn’t constantly being tested. And while her mother may not agree, Lottie felt that she was doing a fairly commendable job of being patient as the investigator went through his questions for her family one by one. Being the youngest child following four brothers and a sister, she was accustomed to being considered last. Even forgotten at times, which is what she assumed had

happened when the private investigator concluded his questioning, and his partner closed his notebook.

“Excuse me, sir, ” Lottie blurted,

“Am I to answer any questions?” “Charlotte, bite your tongue!” Lady Anderton hissed to her youngest, clearly exasperated by this common occurrence. “I’m only asking, Mother, since we were so close, and they seemed to have forgotten I was… ” Lottie trailed o, having caught on to her mother’s stern warning look a few seconds too late.

“I’m sure we have quite enough information, thank you, ” the investigator said dismissively, barely even addressing Lottie. “Haven’t you told your daughter that a young lady doesn’t speak unless spoken to by company?” “Yes, of course, ” Lady Anderton seemed utterly mortified. “I keep reminding her. ” After much assurance to the private investigator and a scolding from her mother once the men left, Lottie glanced at the clock and became frustrated with how much time had passed doing basically nothing of importance. She longed to escape with her sister and go spill all her worries to her under her favorite willow tree by the pond, but Lottie felt like she was back where she had been just two years back, when Cordelia was away at finishing school, and she had no one.

Longing for some sort of comfort and familiarity, Lottie decided to pay a visit to the willow tree anyway. She needed to escape, even if just for a moment. She hated how the house got all stuy in summer. It was a little more bearable as autumn took over, but the season had only just begun to set in. As if the cruel world longed to emphasize how truly trapped Lottie was, her escape to her one place of solace was intercepted by the last person she wanted to see. The narrow,

angular face of Cordelia’s fiance had always bothered Lottie, but now Bertram Rutherford’s presence at the manor felt like a special gut punch. Most would assume that Lottie’s dislike of her beloved older sister’s fiance was out of jealousy. And of course this was partly true. She had never liked the idea of her older sister being married o and moving away to start a new family with some man she barely knew. Lottie honestly considered her sister too good for any man she had ever come across, but Bertram was especially undeserving. Since the moment she met him, Lottie had never liked Bertram. Perhaps it was his condescending attitude, or the annoying mole on his face that seemed to be in a dierent place every time Lottie saw him. Whatever the case, Lottie never understood why Cordelia would choose him of all people to marry. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried asking before, either. One such encounter stood out in this moment, for whatever reason, the vividness of the memory catching the young girl o guard.

Lottiespentsomuchtimeinheroldersister’sroomthathermotherlikedtojokeshe wasmovingin. Thetwoofthemwouldsitandtalkforhours, orevenjustsitnearbydoing completelydierentthingswhileenjoyingtheother’scompany. Asheroldersistersatbythe windowwritingandsketchinginajournal, Lottiewrestledwithherembroideryprojectwhile sprawledoutonCordelia’sbed. Afteralittlewhileoffrustratingwork, Lottiesettheembroiderydown. “MothersaysI’ll

behopelesstofindahusbandifIdon’timprovewithmyembroiderysoon. ” “Mothersaysthatabouteverything, ”Cordeliareplied. “Iwouldn’tworry. ”

Lottielaughedhumorlessly. “I’mmoreworriedaboutwhensomeoneDOESwanttobe

myhusband. Theyseemdreadfullyboring. ”Theyoungersistersetherstitchingdownonthe nightstandandlookedatCordelia. “Idon’tlikeBertram. ”

“I’maware, Lottie. ”

“Whatdoyouseeinhim?” Insteadofresponding, Cordeliajustsighed. Shelookedoutthewindowwithan indistinguishablelookinhereyes — contemplation?Longing?Whateveritwas, itcaptivated theyoungwomanforsolongthatLottiethoughtitbetternottopryanyfurther. Asshereturnedtoherstitching, Lottiecaughtaglimpseoutofthecornerofhereyeof Cordeliawritingsomethinginherjournal.

Cordelia’s journal. In a haze, Lottie quickly excused herself from Bertram’s presence and hurried upstairs. She was overtaken by the urge to get her hands on her sister’s beloved journal, which had been such a constant presence that she never really thought twice about it. But now, if nothing else, the journal would provide some connection to the person she missed the most. When she reached Cordelia’s dark bedroom, the curtains drawn over the windows that

usually provided such generous light, the journal was in the same place Lottie had always known it to be. Cordelia kept it on the same shelf of her bookshelf, between the same two novels. Lottie settled with the precious book at the window seat Cordelia had occupied in her

memory. When she pulled back the curtains, distant storm clouds lined the horizon of a familiar landscape. Across the Fox River for which the land was named lay the sprawling grounds of the Dunmore Estate, where Lottie used to play with the Dunmores’ only son before he was sent o to a boarding school. Over the hill to the west, the sharp peaks of the Baudelaire Manor could be spotted among thick forest. And if one were to look out a window on the other side of the manor, they would see the path into town, not often frequented by the wealthy estate residents who thought themselves too high class for such a place. And of

course on the estate grounds was the willow tree overlooking the pond Lottie and Cordelia had called their own.

Disregarding the storm clouds and figuring they were far too distant to be a concern, Lottie went downstairs intending to look at the journal under the safety of the tree. Before she made it out the door, though, her attention was snagged by the voices of the men from earlier.

Lottie was an experienced expert in the art of eavesdropping, which for her often included discerning wider topics from snippets of conversation she could barely hear. She had gotten quite good at that, and it appears that this time she had come across the investigators in the middle of a discussion about the similar case of Lillith Baudelaire’s disappearance. The heiress, whose title had been acquired when she was orphaned at the age of thirteen and inherited her parents’ estate, was no less mysterious before her disappearance about a month ago. Nobody knew much about her, for she rarely attended events hosted by other wealthy families and preferred to keep to herself. She was most known for her peculiar aversion to marriage. At twenty years old she was no closer to finding a husband than Lottie was, and this was not due to lack of suitors. Lottie’s frequent eavesdropping on the house sta’s gossip barely revealed more about the heiress, as they reported that even Lilith’s own estate’s servants claimed to know little about her. Thus, when Lillith Baudelaire mysteriously went missing, the lack of information made the case near impossible to investigate. But now Cordelia’s disappearance led the investigators to believe the disappearances of two unmarried young women of high society so close together was no coincidence. A moment of thought into this fact would have led Lottie to the conclusion that it was perhaps not wise to go o on her own so often now, at least until this case was resolved. But Lottie was not known for her patience.

Clutching the precious journal in her arms, Lottie ran to her tree as fast as her legs could carry her. The deafening wind gusting past her ears would distract her from her problems in the real world, just for a moment, before she had to take matters into her own hands and confront them.

She settled under the tree to catch her breath, letting the curtain of foliage from the weeping willow protect her as she dug into her sister’s journal. At first, all she focused on was her sister’s voice speaking so clearly through the pages. Cordelia’s writings in the beginning were nothing to note in particular; they sounded more like a conversation between the sisters, decompressing about the events of the day. Lottie was so focused on the catharsis of the moment that she began to forget the original reason she had done this. The only thing that broke her out of this trance was one journal entry that stood out. At first glance it wasn’t much dierent from the others, just more ramblings about happenings of a day. But this particular day was an important one, as Lottie realized now. This was the page Cordelia had been writing on that day when they had their conversation. The date lined up, the sketches were of the landscape which she had been drawing from out the window, and the writings spoke of the conversation. There was a peculiar tone she wrote in. A tone Lottie recognized as the same mood she had seen in her sister’s melancholy expression.

Iknowshe’sright. Icouldnevertellherwhy, butohhowIwishshecouldunderstand howIcouldneverlovehim. Hemayhavemyhand, butmyhearthasbeenanother’sforfar longer.

Enclosed on the next page was a folded paper, which Lottie opened.

It was torn from the last page of RomeoandJuliet.

Dreadful realization made her heart sink as the storm clouds finally bore down on the estate. With shaking hands, Lottie clutched the journal to her chest as she stared at the pond, now rapidly rising with the deposits of rain. The weather had been similar on the eve following the last morning Cordelia had spoken with her sister. Hurried memories of Cordelia’s particular tenderness that morning rushed back in a flurry as Lottie started to run back. She could no longer bear to watch the downpour fill the pond making the murky waters deep enough for a person to drown.

RomeoandJuliet.

The week before her wedding. A heart belonging to another. It was all too much.

Lottie’s return to the manor was a blur. She stashed the journal in its place in the bookshelf, straining to see through bleary, clouded eyes. Once the book was safely nestled

between Cordelia’s favorite collection of Emily Dickinson’s poetry and WutheringHeights,

Lottie’s hand lingered on the spine. She hadn’t noticed before, but the book to its right was

dierent. Instead of WutheringHeights, Lottie found herself holding an intricately illustrated

collection of classic Greek myths. Puzzled, the young girl settled down in the window seat and carefully opened to the page marked by a violet silk ribbon. Not particularly surprising to Lottie was the page depicting the myth of Hades and Persephone. Cordelia was never the one too interested in Ancient Greek stories, and the book was more often in her sister’s room. But for whatever reason, the story of Persephone had always gripped the elder sister’s attention. She used to joke that maybe Persephone’s

kidnapping was really just an elaborate scheme to get away from her overbearing mother. Lottie suspected that the joke was a bit more than just that to Cordelia. What was surprising, though, was a small folded up paper tucked in the corner. The art on the paper was similar to the illustration on the page, at least in structure. Two figures in a chariot, one holding the other. Elegantly simple and drawn in soft watercolors, the two figures embracing looked more loving than anything. What most stood out was the appearance of the figures. Instead of Greek deities, they were two women dressed in simple, but modern dresses. One had flowing dark hair, and the other reminded Lottie of Cordelia, with flowing gentle golden curls. The painting was clearly done out of an abundance of love, which is how Lottie knew instantly that the heart to whom Cordelia’s belonged was the heart of the woman in the

picture. It made so much sense why Cordelia let herself be stuck in a loveless engagement with a man like Bertram. The one she truly loved was one she could never be with, at least openly. It made even more sense when Lottie made the connection of the dark-haired woman in the

picture to Lilith Baudelaire. The raven-haired heiress’s disappearance a month prior had been

no coincidence. A pair of star crossed lovers. RomeoandJuliet.

And yet…something didn’t add up. What did the parallel to the myth of Persephone mean to her sister, if she likened her love to Shakespeare’s tragic love story? Cordelia always had a habit of connecting literary references to her real life. There had to be a reason for all of this, and Lottie couldn’t help but hope that it was meant for her. There had to be something more here. If Cordelia was still alive, she wanted her sister to find her. She couldn’t drop any hints that could be traced by anyone else.

Anybody could understand the RomeoandJulietallusion. It would point to a forbidden

love that ended in tragedy, for the world could never accept them together. But to draw a comparison to Persephone and Hades wouldn’t make sense with the circumstances; Persephone was kidnapped, and Cordelia wouldn’t know this beforehand, enough to hint at it. Unless one were to take it as a planned escape. Cordelia had much more to escape than just an overbearing mother. The judging eyes of high class society were enough to make anyone crack under pressure. Lottie had realized a long time ago that she would never be considered perfect enough for the standards, so besides acting polite to appease her mother, she preferred to just be herself and not worry about what she was supposed to be. Lottie always thought Cordelia didn’t have to worry about that, but maybe she had to worry more than anyone. Lottie knew she had a tendency to jump to conclusions. But unless this conclusion was proven false, she didn’t want to let it go. She didn’t know where else to look, but she knew she had a lead. And a strong one. In her experience, there was nowhere better to find evidence than listening to the gossiping sta.

To Lottie’s luck, the servants were just coming back from the market in town when she got to the sta houses. They trudged through the rain in heavy, soaking overcoats, and Lottie, ignoring how dirty her dress was getting, ran across the muddy grounds to catch the returning sta before they got inside. “Wait!” she shouted, nearly tripping over herself as she approached the house. Before she closed the door, the cook Hilda, who had worked for the Andertons for as

long as Lottie could remember, glanced at the young girl in surprise. “Miss Charlotte? What

are you doing here?”

“Oh, it’s just Lottie, ” the girl corrected her, smiling but a bit out of breath. “May I come

in? I need to ask about something. ”

Earlierinthesummer, onarainydaylikethisone, thestawerepreparingtogoout intotownafterahugedownpourhadfinallypassedwhenanunexpectedvisitorapproached. “Doyouhaveroomforonemore?”MissCordeliaoeredthematronlyolderwomana smilewithwarmththatwasrarelyseenbythehousestainhermother, theladyoftheestate. Afterashort, husheddiscussionbetweenHildaandCordelia, thecookobligedandthe youngladysetowiththehousestaintotown. Lottie, whohadbeensearchingforhersister elsewhere, justbarelysawherenteringthecarriagebeforeitsetofortown. ItwasunheardofforapersonofCordelia’ssocialstandingtovisitthetownsquare. Thiswaswherepoorerfarmerswouldselltheirwaresandmiddleclassmerchantsandartisans keptshop. Wealthyfamilieswouldsendtheirservantstotownforresourcesforthemanor, suchasfoodandmaterials. Occasionally, aLadyofthehousewouldaccompanyherservants ifshewasunsatisfiedwiththeirshopping, butthisdidn’thappenoftenandthetaskwouldn’t fallintothehandsofaneldestdaughter. Cordelia’svisitationwasunusual, anditwasclear thatshewantedtokeepalowprofile.

“But what was she doing there?” Hilda had invited Lottie in to dry o and have tea, agreeing to answer her questions to the best of her ability. Remembering that day, Lottie realized that her sister’s visit into town had to have had some significance. “She wanted to visit with a shopkeeper. A seamstress, Miss Spencer. ” Hilda’s German accent seemed stronger now that she was comfortable at home. “She came with us to visit

many times after that, too. ” “When was the last time she visited?” Lottie took a sip of her tea, then winced as it burned her tongue. She still hadn’t learned her lesson about waiting for tea to cool.

Hilda slowly sipped her own tea before responding.

“It was the afternoon just before she went missing. I remember because she didn’t come back with us. ” “So Miss Spencer was the last person she talked to before disappearing?” Lottie leaned forward eagerly, tapping her finger quickly against the woven tablecloth as she often did when she was excited.

“She may have been, ” Hilda replied,

“I only know she left a note with us. Asking not to tell anyone about the visits. Well, really her parents. And those investigators, though they didn’t ask us much. ”

“I knew she wanted me to figure it out!” Lottie stood up, already starting towards the door before she remembered her manners. “Thank you so much, Hilda. ” Waiting the rest of the week until the servants’ next visit to town was excruciating. There was nothing more to investigate; the only step left to find the truth was to wait. And of course, this was a famous weakness of hers.

The investigation went on, pursuing new leads that Lottie knew were all dead ends. And when the week was finally over, when she went with the servants into town and visited Miss Spencer’s shop, the seamstress finally told her everything. Cordelia had entrusted Lottie with the clues she needed to find the truth. She had told

Miss Spencer that if Lottie came around, she deserved to know everything. As the date of Cordelia’s wedding approached, the young star crossed lovers had been growing increasingly desperate. Cordelia was tired of hiding, and Lilith was tired of her lonesome existence in her solemn estate. But Lilith, going against the conventions of high society, often visited the town square on her own whims, preferring the company of the shopkeepers and locals to the stuy aristocrats of neighboring estates. She had befriended the spinster seamstress, and through her was introduced to more townspeople who had to

love in secret, just like her. Miss Spencer heard of her desperation to escape, and through a network of allies in the tight-knit community, told the lovers of another option. Just north of the town lay a dense forest, which went overlooked by aristocrats who preferred to take their hunting trips elsewhere. Nestled in the heart of the forest was a small community of families and individuals who left more populated areas in favor of a peaceful dwelling in the woods. Cordelia and Lilith could make a life together there, and would always be welcome to visit town whenever they pleased. Before leaving, Cordelia made it clear that she wished for Lottie to visit her as well. One golden autumn afternoon, sunlight filtered through the dense foliage of the deep forest as a raven-haired woman in a muted green gown tended to the beginnings of her small garden. She had spent the past month making a home out of a quaint stone cottage covered in ivy. The sound of birds chirping and the gently babbling stream behind the house made the scene nearly perfect. Not far in the woods, a woman stopped along the vague footpath to pick wildflowers that grew alongside it. After staying with kindly neighbors along the way, her journey was finally coming to an end. Wrapping the bundle of flowers in a violet ribbon that previously bound her hair, she approached the house. As she realized who was approaching, a smile danced on the lips of the woman at the garden. In an instant, they were embracing, and as she melted into the arms of her beloved Lilith, Cordelia knew.

She was home.