Ms. Peculiar: The Watsons - 3
Posted May 18th, 2017 by Lavinia
Author's Note: Why hello, again. I believe you have come to read more about Ms. Peculiar. I would too, if I were you. Today, I believe Ms. Peculiar will tell a bit about herself. The Author of the Tale.
At dinner that night, Ms. Peculiar joined them. They saw a serving of roast beef. As they, however, they could only hear yelling from the washing room.
“No! No! Not like that! Like this! Like this I tell you. Oh gosh Mary! Use the soap and the water!” Or “NO! STOP! THAT’S THE IRON, MARY!!”
Besides that, dinner continued somewhat peacefully.
“So what’s your name?” Annabelle asked in the middle of dinner. Mr. Watson was thinking the same thing, because his eyes lit up when she asked. Besides he had been looking her over the whole dinner.
“Ms. Peculiar, obviously.” The witch smiled politely.
“No, no, you’re first name?” The little girl asked.
“Oh my first name. Well, lovely, my full name is Natalia, Beatrice, Abby, Wilfur, James T. Conner, Inca, Sir William the II, Georgia, Lucy, Fred, Wilfur II, Malkonsmack Peculiar.” Both Mr. Watson and Miss Watson had their jaws touching the table.
“Is that truly your name?” Annabelle asked in her soft voice.
“Indeed.” Ms. Peculiar said seriously.
“Pardon me, but what do all of the names mean?” Mr. Watson asked.
“Well. Beatrice is my mother, Abby is my mother’s sister, Wilfur is my father, James T. Conner is the man that invent the dragon tongue drier – a very interesting man he is –, Inca is an the Inca Indians - good people indeed -, Sir William the II he is my brother, Lucy is a pixie – very blue if you ask me – she was my mother’s mid wife for me – obviously –, Fred is a wanderer that only appears every few years, and finally Wilfur II is the family cat.” Georgie unpleasantly hissed at the mention of the family cat’s name, “Malkonsmack and Peculiar are last names.”
The reactions of the father and daughter where indeed a very shocked reaction - the peculiar reaction Ms. Peculiar had normally gotten when explaining her names. Indeed it was obvious Ms. Peculiar wasn’t normal. Mr. Watson stared with his eyebrows scrunched together and face stern with puzzlement. He looked at her with caution. Annabelle carried the same expression. Slowly the two eyed each other curiously and then eyed Ms. Peculiar, whom feed Georgie a piece of the roast beef.
The confessed silence was broken by a high pitch scream, “MARY!! IT’S ON FIRE!”
“O’ dear,” Ms. Peculiar muttered as Mr. Watson stood up, “Don’t worry Mr. Watson. I’ll handle this.” Ms. Peculiar stood up, with Georgie at her heels chewing the last of the roast beef. Mr. Watson sat down too confused and bothered to argue. Ms. Peculiar strode through the kitchen and into the attached laundry room. Normal it would smell of bubbly soap, but now it smelt of burn cloth. Smoke and steam hazed over the room. Patricia’s low spectacles were very foggy from the steam as she pulled the half burnt shirt out of a bucket of water. Mary was in the corner as if she was a small child. She looked as though was she going to burst into tears.
“Mary. I told you – oh hello Ms. Peculiar.” Patricia greeted with a twang of detest.
“Hello, Patricia.” Ms. Peculiar surveyed the room, “Mind telling me what’s happened.”
Patricia’s face was beetroot red, “Yes, very much!” She fumed, “Mary here was trying to iron Mr. Watson’s shirt! Obviously, she burnt it! You should have listened to me, Ms. Penciler! You should have listened to me! Mary is useles-,”
Ms. Peculiar raised her hand calmly, “Patricia, I think I can make a clear conclusion. Now, allow me to have a word with Mary, lovely. Thank you, lovely.” Patricia wobbled out of the laundry room muttering to herself irritably. Mary’s lip trembled.
“I am so sorry, Ms. Peculiar.” Mary cried out, “You had so much faith in me. Now, I’ve just disappointed you… oh I my so sorry-,”
Ms. Peculiar held up her hand and examined the burnt shirt. She made a – aumh – sound and started to fold the shirt. “Please, Mary. I can fix it. You need some help, however.” Ms. Peculiar grinned, “Look here.” She held out the shirt by the collar. Mary walked to the side of Ms. Peculiar and looked puzzled, with her eyebrows clenched together. Ms. Peculiar waved her hand over, what would be the bottom of the shirt. Suddenly, the bottom appeared bright and white as the rest of the clothing. Mary let out a small screech.
“Oh! Patricia!” She called out, “PATRICIA!”
“Shhh!” Ms. Peculiar whispered and smiled warmly, “I am a woman that has practiced the art of supernatural elements designed to help or hurt others. I have been so from the time of birth. However, believe me I am only here to help. But it must be a secret inside this household. Okay, lovely?”
“Pardon.” Mary started with a complex face of confusion, “You are what?”
Ms. Peculiar signed slightly impatiently, since almost everyone asked this question. So in one breath she said, “I am a woman that has practiced the art of supernatural elements designed to help or hurt others. I have been so from the time of birth. I must add that I am only here for help. In other words, I am a witch.”
“W-w-w-witch?” Mary asked, her eyes large as tennis balls and her skinny face pale.
Ms. Peculiar nodded, “And this is how I am going to help you. Ready?”
Mary gulped, “Yes?” Ms. Peculiar pointed to the washing buckets, she snapped her fingers at the irons and drying lines. Soon everything was moving at its know occurred. The linen was brushing it self along the washing equipment. The clothes lines where moved in different patterns to dry the clothes faster. The iron was moving up and down smoothly. The only thing Mary had to do was fold. The clothes sorted themselves into the washing buckets. But most of all the iron was doing something not all irons do – besides working on its accord, of course – it was whistling! Yes! Singing lovely tones.
“Well, I be getting back to dinner. If get lonely the iron also talks.” Ms. Peculiar winked just before leaving the laundry mat for the table. Mary didn’t say anything. How could she? She was puzzled, amazing, confused, and bewildered all in the same moment.
The next morning, Mr. Watson was apprehensive to leave Annabelle with this strange woman. He had even checked the papers for anyone that had escaped from an asylum. Annabelle beamed at Ms. Peculiar and did everything in her power to try making Ms. Peculiar like her. Annabelle liked the strange Ms. Peculiar very much. Patricia didn’t look too happy, and kept eyeing Ms. Peculiar and Mary. Mary was having a wonderful day. She had a spring in her step and kept whistling very strange, but lovely, tunes. The three dogs and Georgie had different relations. The oldest, Daniela, – Annabelle’s first dog – a black collie with a few silver stretches kept eyeing Geogie’s non-animal like behavior. The adolescent dog, Molly, – Annabelle’s second dog – was a beagle with brown ears and a white / black patched body, stepped on everyone’s feet trying to get food from under the table, no to mention Annabelle secretly feeding him. The most recent puppy, Honeybutter, was a Golden Retriever. About a month or so old, Honeybutter was hyper, but defiantly need training. Georgie passed dirty looks at the barking happy puppy, which kept trying to play.
“Mr. Watson. What exactly do you do?” Mr. Peculiar asked in the middle of breakfast, muffins and eggs.
Mr. Watson was taken a bit back by this, “I thought you knew everything about me?” In fact, Ms. Peculiar already knew the answer, but still she had to make some type of interest otherwise, she would seem a bit boring, “Well, I am a lawyer.”
“Interesting. Never took you for a lawyer.” She lied. Of course Mr. Watson was a lawyer and lawyers weren’t interesting. Well at least to Ms. Peculiar.
“Yes. It’s a family begun firm. My grandfather started it and then my father took over, and now I am working under my – er – father.” Mary skipped into the room carrying a tray of warm, steamy, crispy bacon, “Mary those look decedent!”
“A chicken in the kitchen,
A bathroom full of bobbles,
Cats in closet,
And ants in an anthropologist’s antic,”
Mary sung happily as she skipped back into the kitchen. Annabelle giggled hysterically. Ms. Peculiar smiled delighted. Georgie rolled his green eyes and meowed in a rather bored way.
Mr. Watson frowned as he starred at where Mary had been moments ago. He looked down at his brass watch and his eyes widened, “Dear lord! (Patricia’s lips tightened in furry at the mention of ‘lord’) Is that the time? I am start my dear, daughter, I have to be going. Old Grandpapa wants me early-,”
“Awww!” She wined and gripped her father’s arm.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said and kissed her on the forehead. She pouted her lip and looked down at her food. Mr. Watson hurried to the coat rack and then to his study. “Patricia! Where’s the brief case?” Mr. Watson hollered from his study. Mary hurried out the kitchen holding a shiny brief case.
“Sorry, Mr. Watson! I-I,” Mary coughed confidently, “I thought you’d like a lunch with your b-brief case.”
“Oh thank you!” Mr. Watson exclaimed as his coat hung over his one arm and he grabbed for the brief case in the other. Ignoring the fact that Mary went a dark shade of strawberry jam. In a second, he was out the door.
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