William Calhoun and the Black Feather. Book I

Number 7 in the Green Wiz Street belonged to an old woman, Mrs. Oliver, who was much over seventy. With each day, moving around was becoming more difficult for her, not mentioning walking near the house. She lived together with a boy called William Calhoun. Exactly seven years ago, as she was strolling around her house in the evening, about to head home to get ready for bed, Mrs. Oliver noticed a small bundle in the middle of the road opposite her house. The bundle looked like a piece of crumpled fabric thrown out of the passing car. However, since cars on the roads around here were rare, this find was quite a surprise. It was very quiet. Thinking that one of the locals must have thrown out some old clothes, Mrs. Oliver turned around and started walking towards her house. But she stopped when someone started crying. It was a baby cry, no doubts. She looked around and saw no one, but in a few seconds, she realized where the crying was coming from. Her walk somewhat unsure, she headed to the road and, as she came closer, took a good look at the bundle. It turned out to be a baby, wrapped in rags.

Mrs. Oliver picked the baby up. Sensing her care, he fell quiet. His big blue eyes stared at Mrs. Oliver and then the baby’s tiny mouth opened in a smile.

“Stop it,” Mrs. Oliver grumbled. “I’m not that old for you, young man, to make fun of my looks!”

No more doubts left, she took the baby home and brought him up as her own.

A teacher of literature in the past, Mrs. Oliver had retired long ago and now lived alone. Her husband passed away a year ago and they didn’t have children of their own. After that, the lonely widow lived waiting for the hour she would follow her husband. But she was destined to keep living for seven more years, which she had fully devoted to young William.

She came up with the name for the boy right away. She called the baby boy after two worthiest people, in her opinion, - William Shakespeare and William Blake. Besides that, there was a small white feather sticking out of the rags the boy was wrapped in. Pale yellow word was visible on the feather ‘Calhoun’. So Mrs. Oliver didn’t think on the last name much either.

“Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night...” she quoted as she took the dirty rags off the boy. “What are you born to, mister?!”

From the very first day, she grew quite fond of the boy.

“You are likely destined to a very rare fate and a long life if you’ve ALREADY survived,” she told him each time.

It was probably a teacher habit to call her students ‘mister’ and ‘miss’ or, perhaps, she really thought the child to be special, but she always addressed the boy politely ‘mister Calhoun’!

Seven years have passed since that memorable event. Mrs. Oliver decided that the day the baby came into her life will be the boy’s birthday. So it was William’s birthday today. Mrs. Oliver had spent the whole day in the kitchen and made William’s favourite strawberry cake. As a gift, the boy got a set of warm clothes from her – a sweater, thick woollen socks and two shirts.

“You’ll need that for your trip when mister Hoggart comes, my dear,” Mrs. Oliver said.

Mrs. Oliver realized that she wasn’t getting any younger and it was time to find a family where the boy wouldn’t be a stranger. And it was time to send William to school as well. So, a month ago she sent a letter to distant relatives of her late husband where she asked to take William in, explaining that she didn’t have much time left and she didn’t want the boy to go to the orphanage.

The Hoggarts visited them once when Mr. Oliver was still alive. Mrs. Oliver understood back then that these relatives were very decent and intelligent people. They lived in London and were quite wealthy, so there were no doubts that William wouldn’t be a burden for them.

Two days ago, a letter came from London saying that the Hoggarts would be happy to have young William staying with them for as long as he wanted, and that this Sunday evening Edward Hoggart, the head of the family, would come for the boy.

William himself wasn’t taking the idea of moving away well. He had no desire to part with Mrs. Oliver, to change something in his life. And, as he often admitted to himself, it was pretty scary to just go and live in a family of people he didn’t know. Nobody was going to become his friend, because he didn’t know how to be friends with anyone. He happened to have no friends. There were very few people living in the Blackchester County, not mentioning the Green Wiz Street, with its five or six families. Mostly retired people. Until the very last moment, William was trying to convince Mrs. Oliver not to send him off to the Hoggarts.

“But grandma!” William had treated Mrs. Oliver as his grandmother all these years, though he knew the truth about his appearance in her house. “I like living with you! Why should I live with other people if I have you?!”

“Alas, my dear, you will have to go. I’m old and there’s little I can do. Life isn’t something eternal! There comes a time when we all go where we came from – to the other world! But you… your life is about to change. And you should greet those changes with a smile, not with an old woman who’s already standing with one foot in the other world.”

“Then I want to stand with one foot in the other world, too!” William didn’t want to give up.

“Don’t be silly, young man!” Mrs. Oliver said in her strict teacher-like voice. “How pitiful your life would be if it continued to consist only of an old woman and her house!” Then she added in a softer tone: “You’ll find friends, perhaps, even admirers…”

William listened to her silently.

“But, most importantly, a normal family!”

“But I don’t know anyone there…” he objected gloomily.

“Then use a chance to know those who aren’t your grandma! Besides, your parents, no matter who they are, should be proud of you, young man. Do your best! The Hoggarts will find a good school for you and if you study well, you’ll get admitted into a prestigious university!”

William gave it a thought, then said:

“But I know nothing about my parents, grandma. How do I know if they are proud of me or not?”

“That’s easy! Make the whole world proud of you! Then your parents will be among others as well!” said Mrs. Oliver passionately, she never stopped believing in what she was saying.

“Alright, whatever you say, grandma! I mean, I’ll try… They will be proud…” William said unsurely and added in a sad tone: “Even if they had left me.”

“Go and check your suitcase, young man,” said Mrs. Oliver as she tried to avoid this difficult topic. “Mister Hoggart will be here any minute.”

The boy went to his room obediently to check if he had packed everything for the road, while Mrs. Oliver kept standing there for another minute. And if William had been there with her, he wouldn’t have missed the tear that was running down the wrinkled cheek of the old lady.