Trihuger's Treats: Chapter Four

(Chapter Three) 

“What?! It is not! How could this be your island? I’ve never even met you!” Suzie cried, so indignant she forgot to be afraid, her hands flying to her hips.

“Actually you have. You just don’t remember,” Mr. Trihuger said calmly. “And I’m not sure exactly what owning this island has to do with meeting you.”

          

When Suzie didn’t answer, he stood up, carrying Oliver with him. “Come now, let’s make sure your friend will live.”

           

Suzie followed without another word. If Oliver had been awake, he would have been amazed to see that now there were two people who could tell Suzie what to do.

       

Mr. Trihuger walked down the hall and into the room where the children saw the light coming from earlier. It was much larger than the room they had hidden in, and had cupboards lining all the walls except for one, which instead had shelves halfway down and a long counter underneath. The shelves and the counter were covered with all sizes of bottles and jars, and in the center of the room was a large table, where Mr. Trihuger gently laid Oliver.

        

“Well, he is breathing. I do believe he will be fine,” Mr. Trihuger said, heading to the sink at the end of the counter and running a hand over his bald head, which had a horseshoe of long gray hair on the sides. “Perhaps some water will help.”

        

“How do you know my name?” Suzie asked again, standing near Oliver’s head, but keeping the table between her and Mr. Trihuger.

       

“Well, have you met any other young girls on this island? Besides, with that blond hair of yours, you couldn’t be anyone but Abigail’s daughter,” Mr. Trihuger said, turning back from the sink with a small rag in a bowl of water. “You even wear it the same way – very, um, unbrushed.” 

      

Suzie was shocked again, having never heard anyone but her father use her mother’s name. And even he usually said, “your mother.”          

       

“Let’s see,” Mr. Trihuger continued, dabbing Oliver’s forehead gently with the wet rag. “You must be how old now? 9?”

       

“Ten” Suzie said, straightening her shoulders. 

       

“Ah, yes, of course,” Mr. Trihuger said, looking down as Oliver began to move. “Good morning, young man!”

         

Oliver’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright, barely missing Mr. Trihuger’s head before sliding off the table next to Suzie. He grabbed her arm and began yanking her toward the door. 

         

“Oliver, wait, it’s OK,” Suzie said, pulling her arm back. “He won’t hurt us. He was helping you.”

          

Oliver crouched behind Suzie, keeping an eye on the door in case he still needed to make a run for it.

         

“Oliver, is it?” Mr. Trihuger said, stepping around the table to stand in front of Suzie. “You’re Joan’s boy?” 

         

Hearing his mother’s name, Oliver peeked his head above Suzie’s shoulder, though he was still squeezed as close as possible to her back. Suzie normally would have pushed him away by now, but she wanted to know how this strange old man knew so much about her and even knew her mother, whom she had never met. 

      

And then there was the small matter of those things on his face. They looked like pieces of glass propped in front of his eyes. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s that on your nose?”

     

Oliver sucked in his breath, but Mr. Trihuger just nodded. “These are glasses,” he said, taking them off and holding them in front of him. “They help me see. Without them I would be lost.”

     

Still behind her, Oliver had lifted his head up completely above Suzie’s shoulders and was straining forward to see the glasses. Mr. Trihuger studied him as he said, “And I am guessing, based on that bump I see growing on your forehead, that you might have the same problem?” 

      

Oliver came out from behind Suzie, but still could not speak, even though she elbowed him and demanded, “Tell him!” Finally, she turned to Mr. Trihuger. “Does he ever! I always go get him in the morning now because he can’t ever find our house! The last time he walked so far he hit the water, then it took him another two hours to find his way back to tell me he got lost! After that, his mom asked me to come get him.”

      

Mr. Trihuger watched Oliver, who was now staring at his shoes. Putting one hand on the boy’s shoulder, he held out the glasses with the other. “Here. Put these on.”

      

Oliver looked up, his eyes wide. He took the glasses in both hands, studying them for several moments before guiding them carefully toward his face.

     

“Yes. But you need to slide those arms over your ears,” Mr. Trihuger said, lifting the glasses off and then back on Oliver’s face, which had a look that changed from shock to happiness so fast, the expressions had melted into one.

        

“Wow, I can see everything!” he said, turning to Suzie. “I can see the buttons on your shirt! And wait – those are flowers! I can see the petals!”

      

Mr. Trihuger looked almost as if he were smiling as Oliver turned slowly around, looking everything up and down. But Suzie was definitely frowning, her arms folded. “Why are they working for him, too? Aren’t they yours? And exactly what are they?” 

     

“Well, they are specially cut pieces of glass that do what the inside of our eyes are supposed to do, and what your eyes do do,” Mr. Trihuger said, waving a hand at Suzie. “But I am very near-sighted. I can’t see anything further away than my nose. And that’s actually a very common problem. It’s not surprising at all that my glasses help Oliver.”

        

“Oh, wow,” Oliver was saying. “Wait – I want to see outside!” He started to run toward the wall, forgetting they were underground and there were no windows.  

       

Suzie grabbed his shirt and pulled her toward him, yanking the glasses off his face. Oliver did nothing, but Mr. Trihuger put a hand firmly on her shoulder. 

       

“Suzanne! That is no way to treat someone – let alone someone else’s property,” he said. “Were you raised by wolves?”

        

“No, my dad, Paul. Don’t you know him?” Suzie said, “Who’s Wolves?”

         

“Oh, it’s just an expression that means you have no manners,” Mr. Trihuger snapped. “Of course I know your father!”

         

Then he took a deep breath and held out his hand. “My glasses, please,” he said, and Suzie quickly handed them over. 

        

“Thank you,” he said, much calmer as he put them back on his face. “These would be very hard to replace, so I would appreciate your handling them carefully. As you should do with anything that belongs to someone else.” 

       

Both of the children stood very still, Oliver trying to adjust to everything being blurry again, and Suzie not wanting to upset Mr. Trihuger, who had walked over to one of the cupboards and opened it.

          

“Now, I know I put — ah, yes,” he said, sliding something in his jacket pocket before turning back to the children. “You’re in luck Miss Suzanne, I do have something you can have,” 

           

“Really? What?” Suzie asked as Mr. Trihuger crossed the room, opened another cupboard and walked back with a tightly sealed black bag.

           

“Your fertilizer,” he said. “It’s not too heavy, is it?”

           

He put the bag down in front of Suzie, who didn’t move. “It’s about time to feed your tomatoes, is it not? They must be in full production by now,” he said,

            

“Oh, yes, they are!” said Oliver, picturing the delicious yellow cherry tomatoes that were almost as sweet as her father’s berries.

            

“Yes, but — how did you know about my tomatoes?” Suzie said.

            

“Because your father tells me about your garden, of course,” he said. “How else would I know what to put in the fertilizer?”

            

Suzie nodded and finally picked up the bag.

            

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Trihuger said pointedly, pretending as if Suzie had thanked him. “I’m happy you can use it. I have more than enough. And now then, shouldn’t you two be getting home?”

        

He led the children back to the hall, where Suzie finally said “thank you” into the bag before heading up the stairs eagerly. Oliver started to follow, but felt Mr. Trihuger’s hand on his shoulder.

         

“Here, take these,” he said softly in Oliver’s ear. When Oliver turned back, he saw that Mr. Trihuger was holding out a smaller pair of glasses with black plastic frames. Picking up one of Oliver’s hands, he put the glasses in it, then turned him around and gave him a small shove up the stairs. “Put those away.”

          

Then louder, so Suzie could hear, he called. “Not so fast, Miss Suzanne. Remember the boy here can’t see as well as you.”

         

“He didn’t even ask us why we were there!” Suzie grumbled as soon as they were far enough away from the hill that she thought Mr. Trihuger couldn’t hear them. “I didn’t get to ask him about the Berry man or the other island — and I want to read that book! It’s my mother’s, not his. Why does he have it? I should!”

      

Oliver didn’t answer. He had put the glasses on and was busy looking at everything: his hands, his shoes, the ground, Suzie’s shoes, her face — “What are those?” she demanded, the bag of fertilizer sliding to her feet.

         

“Oh,” Oliver said, turning pink. “M-mr. Trihuger gave me these. Aren’t they great? Now I can see all the time!”

           

Suzie crossed her arms. “Why would he give them to you?” 

          

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “He said he doesn’t need them anymore. And they can help me.”

             

Suzie wrinkled her nose. “Suit yourself. Too bad they look so stupid.” She picked up the bag again and began walking away.

            

“They do?” Oliver said, touching them worriedly and catching up to her. “Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. As long as they help me see, right?”     

             

Suzie didn’t answer, and they didn’t talk again until they reached the main path and Suzie turned left to head to Oliver’s house. 

            

“Wait, uh, I think I can walk home by myself,” Oliver said, smiling shyly and pointing at the glasses. “I can see pretty good now, you know, thanks to these.”

         

“Yeah. Right. OK,” Suzie said, not smiling back. She studied him for a bit, then said, “Yes, that’s definitely better, because now when my father asks why we left the house instead of waiting for him, I can tell him that I had to walk you home because you were too scared to stay by yourself.” She turned on her heel. “See ya. Good luck!”

         

Once again, her nasty words just floated over Oliver. He was too busy wondering if he could skip home, or if that would make his glasses fall off.

Chapter Five