2
Disaster did not strike until two weeks later.
The first week was spent in a mourning period; the treehouse was quieter than it had ever been, and a somber mood filled the air. It took the girls some time, too, to remember to call Bisma ‘Baji’.
There were chores to be done and lessons to be learned, and Bisma was in charge of all of it. There was no one above her; the responsibility was hers and hers alone.
Slowly, Bisma began to understand why Eva had been sad but hopeful on her last day; why the Unwanted Girls had to leave the Enchanted Forest when the next girl came of age. It was so they could become something more than a caretaker, so that they could live lives of their own.
To be the Baji forever was untenable. As much as she loved them, in a way, Eva must have been glad to move on to another adventure. To live a life that was entirely her own.
It was all-consuming, looking after five girls, but such was the role of the Baji. Bisma would do what she needed to do, just as she always had, just as Eva and the bajis before her.
Deeba needed constant attention, and the older girls took turns with her.
‘Why does she always need a diaper change during MY shift?’ Azalea asked. Wrinkling her nose, she held Deeba at arm’s length. Deeba giggled.
‘Give her here, I’ll do it,’ Mei offered, holding her hands out for Deeba. Though she was three years younger than Azalea, she was far more responsible. Azalea went to hand Deeba off, but Bisma gave her a stern look, making Azalea stop in her tracks.
‘Azalea, it’s your shift and so it’s your responsibility. I didn’t hear Luna complaining when Deeba threw up on her.’
‘Idid!’ Azalea whined in outrage. ‘Luna was being a big baby about it.’
Bisma narrowed her eyes. She tried to keep her voice level. ‘Still, Luna took care of it. Just like you will.’ Azalea rolled her eyes, muttering to herself. ‘Withoutattitude,’ Bisma added.
Azalea scoffed loudly. ‘Oh, so now I can’t even have an attitude!’
‘Keep complaining and you’ll be cleaning the chicken coops tomorrow,’ Bisma warned.
Azalea promptly shut her lips tight, but not before giving Bisma a long-suffering look.
Bisma’s heart twinged; she hated to be the bad guy, but she would need to grow used to disciplining her sisters or the entire house would fall into disarray.
There were a million things to do and manage that she had not realized, and at the end of each day she felt she had missed something (or twelve things) and ruined even more. Then, the next day, it would start all over again.
The chickens and goats needed tending to, the house needed to be cleaned, there was food to be cooked, dishes to be washed, fruits and vegetables to be picked, clothes to be stitched, pottery to be made, lessons to be taught (not to mention manners and etiquette!), furniture to be mended, and the Forest knew what else!
Of course the work was divided among the six of them—well, five, since Deeba was a baby, and honestly, she was a task onher own to be taken care of—but to organize the tasks and divide them fairly was the Baji’s job—Bisma’sjob.
She had never realized how much finesse it took to keep a household running smoothly! If even one day Bisma forgot to remind one of the girls of one of their tasks, it upended the careful balance of theentireday, giving them all headaches and terrible moods.
In a house full of girls, bad moods were to be avoided at all costs if they were to survive, otherwise their quaint, cozy little home would soon become a butcher house.
That day, Luna sat at a table in the main room, painting the dried pottery she’d made recently. The first floor of the treehouse consisted of the kitchen, their dining area, and the living room, and it was where they spent most of their time.
The rooms were stacked above, and because they were small, they each had their own rooms, except for Deeba; she rotated rooms, since a two-year-old couldn’t be left alone for the entire night.
Sunlight streamed in through the open windows, carrying in a soft breeze and the scent of pine and blossoms. It was the beginning of autumn, but warmth still remained in the air when the sun was out.
As Luna painted, and Azalea watched Deeba, Bisma was tasked with teaching five-year-old Nori how to read, and neither of them were enjoying it one bit. There was a school for the villagers’ children in Old Town, but the Unwanted Girls were not welcome there, so they taught themselves.
‘Sound it out,’ Bisma begged, reaching out to tuck Nori’s blonde hair behind her ear. ‘Cat. Cuh-Cuh-Cuh—ah-ah-ah—tuh-tuh-tuh.’
‘Uh, K? O? D?’ Nori attempted, getting it wrong for the seventh time in the past three days.
Bisma released a long breath.
Mei was in the kitchen, baking a pie for dinner, and the smell of potatoes, cheese, and thyme was making Bisma wish she was enjoying a nice meal out in the sun rather than suffering through a spelling lesson.
