Mothers By Invention

A push broom was used to carefully slide a sloshing cup of tea toward the feral construct from a safe distance. Two weeks of patient and determined taming had allowed Wren to get close to the woman, and even lure her out of the dark corners of the wardrobe where she seemed to feel most comfortable. But it was a wary relationship on both sides.

For Miss Fitzpatrick’s part, she merely watched, with milky eyes, the movement of the cup sliding across the brightly colored picnic blanket until it came to a stop against the wrinkles of the fabric. Neither thirst nor hunger compelled her to do anything more than blink at the cup. Wren hadn’t really expected much more. Since her own reanimation, food and drink could be a pleasure but were not a necessity. The reanimation serum was enough to keep her alive and though she couldn’t manufacture it as the Scientist did, she found she could go longer without injections if she took care not to become electrocuted, poisoned, or otherwise damaged again.

Wren laid the broom down, keeping the handle within reach and sat at the opposite corner of the picnic blanket from Miss Fitzpatrick. She poured a cup of tea for herself and then offered the mindless Miss F a cucumber sandwich. Without waiting for a response, she placed a sandwich for each of them on two scratched and chipped, mismatched china plates. For a few minutes, she prattled ightly with the silently still woman, as if she were having a tea party with her dolly. Soon enough, however, she fell into an awkward silence.

The child sighed, having a reanimated Miss Fitzpatrick wasn’t going at all as she’d hoped. To the contrary, it was rather unnerving. Still, dead as she was, there was something lovely in the lank, sun-kissed hair and the delicate shape of the hands which had only the other week taught her to knit.

Wren inched hesitantly toward her. When the approach was met without resistance or aggression, she dared to get closer. Ten minutes, and five feet later, Wren had crawled across the picnic blanket and into Miss Fitzpatrick’s unprotesting lap. The child drew the woman’s limp arms about her shoulders and rocked, occasionally having to lift a drooping arm back in place.

It was an almost imperceptible movement, so small, Wren almost missed it, but when she shifted it happened again. Unmistakably, Miss Fitzpatrick squeezed the girl in a light embrace.

Little Wren thrilled at the small victory. ` She hugged Miss Fitzpatrick gently and hesitantly, smiling to herself as she imagined presenting the Scientist with his newest assistant. She imagined him falling immediately in love with the beautiful Miss Fitzpatrick and keeping her to be Wren’s new mother.

As the reanimated Miss Fitzpatrick limply embraced her, Wren was certain she was on the verge of the life, or afterlife as it were, she’d always dreamed of.

Pity the Scientist didn’t see things the same way.