Since many of you wish to get better acquainted with the teller of my tale, A Mother for the Seasonings, let me give you a glimpse of Basil in action:
"I ran out to the
group in the guise of a perfectly welcoming host. “Hurry along, Miss Watkins,”
I said, taking her arm.
“I am going just
as quickly as I wish to, Master Seasoning. It does seem to take an eternity to
get to your house.”
Rosemary trotted
ahead and beckoned to us. “Faster, Miss Watkins, there’s a dear.”
As we approached
the house, the barking of the dogs could be plainly heard.
Miss Watkins
turned visibly pale. “Are the dogs fastened tightly?” She pulled her arm out of
mine and twisted her handkerchief into a knot.
I affected a
casual air. “Oh yes. We made sure to tie them up securely. Especially after
what happened last time.”
“What happened
last time?” Miss Watkins stopped and turned to me.
Rosemary tilted
her head to one side and shook her head sweetly. “Oh nothing much. Only that
Deacon Cloddham visited last week, and although her arrived with all his
fingers, he left with nine.” Her brown eyes had never looked more sincere. “You
had better hold your hands high in the air so the dogs don’t think your gloves
are pieces of meat.” She nodded at the smart salmon colored gloves Miss Watkins
wore.
Even I was
shocked by Rosemary’s tales—she was usually so mild, and I shook my head at her
audacity.
We entered the
gate an odd procession, but the spirit of mischief had firm hold of me by now.
Miss Watkins held her hands above her head, and, for Angelica’s benefit—for I
knew she would be watching out the front window—I held out my arm like a rapier,
as if we were holding this woman hostage at sword-point.
Hot anger at the
bare idea of Miss Watkins being our mother urged me to greater heights. I have
no idea what fiend of inspiration made the others act their parts so well,
though perhaps it was a kindred feeling to mine, but even Fennel suggested that
we had better dash to the front door in case one of the dogs broke loose.
At this, Miss
Watkins gathered up her trailing skirts and ran to the door, arriving with her
bonnet tilted over one ear. We crowded the walk behind her.
“Is your father
at home?” Miss Watkins’s ivory complexion was flushed an uncomfortable shade of
red.
“He isn’t yet,
but he will be.” A fluttering sensation rose in my chest.
I gave Miss
Watkins my arm and led her through the house to the table, which looked
lavishly elegant. Angie’s roses lent an additional charm.
Fennel gasped. “Basil,
those woses are full of—”
I clamped my
hand over her mouth and pulled out a chair for Miss Watkins.
She sat down and plastered a
smile on her lips. “Will your father be home soon?”
“Yes, but we usually eat without
him, why don’t we begin?” I bowed my head and said a blessing, mentioning
nearly everyone of our acquaintance in Cape Farsight,
and dwelling on the heathen in the far reaches of the world. I hoped rambling
on in such a way would bide us some time before Papa came home. At last I was
finished, and I lifted my glass. “To Miss Watkins.”
The others
followed my example. “To Miss Watkins.”
The subject of
the toast managed a cold smile and put her glass to her lips. She promptly
choked on the liniment-flavored tea.
I stole a glance
at Angie, but her face registered no emotion beyond polite surprise. She kept
her eyes on her plate and ate her own food in silence. That little minx was a
fine actress, I had to admit.
I needn’t
explain the next few minutes very deeply. Suffice it to say, Angelica and I had
done our jobs well. The food was thoroughly uneatable, and the fat green worms,
not contented with their rose-petal beds, had tumbled into Miss Watkins’s
salad, completing her disastrous meal.
Our guest rose,
her whole body trembling. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes glittered. They
were pools of golden malice. I shrank involuntarily from their gaze.
“Children, I
reject, I despise, I spurn, your
proposals. I would not marry a man who fathered such brats if he were a king.
Good day.” Miss Watkins turned on her heel and slammed the front door as she
left our house."
Ah yes. My dear Basil.
1. Do they have any habits, annoying or otherwise?
Basil’s habits are of a neat
nature…the other Seasoning children tell me that he often stands before a
fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, legs spread apart.
2. What is their backstory and how does it affect them now?
Basil shares the same basic
backstory with the rest of his siblings: They had a mother, beautiful and
young, who they loved very much. She and Capt. Herb Seasoning were fervently
devoted to one another. But when she gave birth to Fennel, Victoria Seasoning
died, leaving Capt. Seasoning a widower with five young children. Ever since
Basil has felt a deal of responsibility for his family.
3. How do they show love?
Basil’s manner of loving is to
ruffle Angie’s hair or pinch Fennel’s nose. He is a thoughtful person and likes
to see women well-dressed, so he is liberal with his compliments, which pleases
Rosemary, especially. As far as other fellows go, Basil is a typical man. His
expressions of satisfaction and approbation are most often given in a slap on
the back or a grin.
4. How competitive are they?
Basil is not what most people would call competitive—he has
enough trouble already keeping Angie and Dill from killing each other. But as
the oldest child, and a son at that, Basil makes sure he keeps his place as
alpha-wolf in the pack. He’s a peacemaker, not a ring-leader, but he takes the
lead often as a “captain” for the girls, as he expresses it to Dill.
5. What do they think about when nothing else is going on?
Shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings, I’ll
warrant. Basil is a typical boy who is curious about things. He likes nothing
better than to go to work with his father, training new recruits for the
British army. I suppose soldiers, sailing ships, exploration, and adventure
stories figure largely in his mind. He is (happily) not at that age where any
thought of girls, beyond his sisters, comes into play. I would not know what to
do with him if he fell in love rather
than his father! Yet Basil is aware enough to have a good eye for a wife for
his father. It is he who has the final say in the Mother-Hunt visits.
6. Do they have an accent?
Oh yes, indeed. Basil has a
stout, healthy British accent, and uses exclamations of peculiar Englishness as
liberally as a Democrat.
7. What is their station in life?
Basil Seasoning is the eldest son of a prominent man in the
settlement of Cape Farsight,
India. Captain
Herb Seasoning is an important figure in the training of the new recruits and
brings home quite a pretty penny. The Seasonings are the Society children of
the Cape. They are wealthy and rather spoiled
with little to vex and much to please them. I cannot vouch for the statement
that they are refined…though Angie is kept busy striving toward that end. But
the Seasonings haven’t let prosperity turn their heads. The children are more
at home talking to Dharma, the seller of trinkets in the market, than they are
sitting in an OLAF tea-party. (Oh. And do let me explain OLAF—it stands for Old
Ladies Against Fun, and is made up of all the Society wives of Cape Farsight)
8. What do others expect from them?
His father expects Basil to be his right-hand. He depends
upon this eldest son more than he realizes. The other children instinctively
look to Basil for guidance, letting him take the hits when something goes
wrong, and the glory when it goes smashingly. His character is well-formed and
noble for a mere boy of thirteen—I suspect because of his early sorrow and the
way the children have had to “scramble up” on their own, Capt. Seasonings being
such a busy man.
9. Where were they born, and when?
Basil Andrew Cyrus Seasoning
was born on a bright morning in November. It was early summer, as India is in the
Southern Hemisphere, and all the world smiled as it heard his first cry. Basil
has that effect on people—he sooths and pleases them, and makes everyone feel
at ease.
10. How do they feel about people in general?
Basil likes people, but he
doesn’t like pretense. He hates false friendliness and social ladder-climbing.
Having been brought up in a home where frankness is key, Basil neither
understands, nor enjoys cold, conventional cordiality merely for the sake of
being polite. If People in large will be themselves and leave all posturing at
the door, you will find him your fast friend.
2 comments:
Very interesting and amusing, I would read more is this full novel ?
sorry I'm new to your blog.
Blessings
Rachel Hope
http://hopespuntreasures.blogspot.com/
Yes, this is a full novel for children, and one that I hope to get published someday. :) Thanks for becoming a follower of this blog! I appreciate it! ~Rachel
Post a Comment