Anthrofiction Stories Web Site

Dedication: A tribute to the silent generation – who is still with us.
Summary: Shaina Bleufeld, a rabbit-morph, has been looking forward to a visit from her family for a long time. She didn't expect it to happen like this.
(C) 2005, Nathan Ryan

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The sunlight filtered softly through the oak trees. Shadows and small spots of sunlight waltzed slowly across the brown linoleum countertop. The light reflected up onto the tired cheeks and energized eyes of an old rabbit doe. Through her tall oval trifocals she could read the hands on the wall clock; one o'clock.

She could feel traces of warmth radiating through the oven door. Her old oven never did that. It had been solidly built and efficient. She didn't like the window on this new contraption, but her old yellow oven had broken down years ago and it had to be replaced. It had been fixed many times, but no one carried the parts for the old thing anymore. She sighed.

The wooden rolling pin in her paws had seen many a baked good. Small bits of dough clung to tiny grooves on its surface. It was blanketed in a thin white coat of flour. Shaina, the old rabbit doe, set the pin gently on the countertop. She would clean it after she rested and regained her strength. With trembling paws she lifted the thin sheet of dough she had just rolled out, laid it gently across the top of her second pie, and crimped it against the crust. In years past she might have constructed a more elaborate crust, but she just didn't have the energy for that. She had prepared the apple filling the day before from apples picked from her own trees in the backyard. A neighbor boy picked them for her for a dollar. Today her granddoe Sara would be bringing her three bunnies, Mannie, Shane, and Felicia, to see their nani. Shaina fully intended to spoil them with their Nani's homemade apple pie.

Taking a knife in hand, she cut vents into the pie's upper crust and trimmed its edges. Then she opened the oven. The heat warmed her fur, skin, and bones. It stimulated her white ears which lay limp along the side of her head and rested atop her shoulders. Carefully she lifted both pies, one at a time, and placed them into the oven. Her paws trembled as they gripped the oven handle and closed the door. Standing upright, she wiped her worn paws across her pear green apron, smearing flour across the word 'Grandmas' and right above the words 'are more huggable.'

The phone rang. Its shrill tones sang out loudly in Shaina's limp ears. "Hold on," she muttered as she sauntered over to the telephone. She no longer kept the answering machine on because she took so long to get to the phone that she was missing the calls. Besides, after the machine had picked up the call, she could never turn it off. Then, when she would pick the phone up, the squeal from the feedback was too much for her old ears. But the phone was in the kitchen and she was only three steps away. She picked it up.

"Hello," she said. "This is Mrs. Bleufeld. Please speak up dear, these are tired ears I have." As the voice on the other end spoke up a gleam of joy came into Shaina's eyes. Her nose twitched. "Hello, dear. It's good of you to call. I'm almost ready for you. When will you be here?" It was with a slow and measurable pace that the happy gleam in her eye began to fade. "So will you be late then, Sara? What time are you bringing my great-grandbunnies to see their nani?" The sound of her question echoed softly off the window pane and sounded muffled in her ears. Her whiskers dropped, but she would not let her voice show her disappointment.

"No dear, of course I understand. I was a mother too. You're a busy doe." Her grey-blue eyes began to water. "No, no. Don't you worry about it. Oh! Dear me. Sara, I really have to hop. I don't want to burn my pies. Just tell me when you can come and I'll make you some apple pies just like when you were a young bunny. I'm sorry dear," her voice cracked almost imperceptibly, "but I really must get. Uh-huh. Of course. Goodbye now."

The old doe's paw trembled as she returned the kitchen phone to its place. She had to steady it with her other paw. She blinked hard, sending two small tears to trace down her thinly furred face. Upon opening her eyes, she saw that she had left some white traces of flour from her paws on the red receiver. She reached up to brush it off, only to pause before reaching her target. Her eyes caught a glimpse of her paws next to the telephone receiver. They were same thin white atop red. Her pink flesh showed through her short, thin fur. It was finally starting to grow back after last year's chemotherapy. Her eight living children didn't know about her cancer or its successful treatment. Neither did her twenty four grandrabbits nor her thirty-seven great-grandbunnies. None of them. Not one had come to see her in two years. That Sara was planning to come to introduce her youngest was a special delight. But now it wasn't to be.

A bitter taste came up into Shaina's mouth as she hobbled to the small kitchen closet. She opened the door slowly and looked up at the aprons hanging on the inside of the door. There was a collection of them in the upstairs closet, but she only kept three down here. She reached down and untied the apron's ties in front of her flat belly, then pulled it up over hear head. Turning it around, she gazed at its seam work, and then its words. 'Grandmas are more huggable,' it said, smeared with fine flour. There would be no hugs today. She hung it up, still dirty, on its proper peg. She looked at the red one. 'Always cook with love,' it read. The bile in her stomach began to churn and she rejected the statement with a bitter grunt. Then she spied the butter yellow apron her friends had given her years ago. A single laugh escaped her maw against her will. They had thrown an 'old maid' party and bought each other funny gifts. She took the apron down off the peg.

The smell of hot apple and cinnamon began to drift through the air. Despite what she had told Sara, the pies would not be ready for some time. Slowly, she slid the yellow apron down over her head, pulled her floppy ears out from under the strap, and reached for the ties. She wrapped the long cloth strands around her lower back and back to the front, where she tied the ties with a neat bow.

She smoothed a wrinkle out of the bright apron. Looking down, she read the words now proudly displayed over her chest and belly quietly in her mind. 'Grandmas,' it said, 'do it in the kitchen.' She couldn't help a pained smirk as she tried to push aside memories of her family and replace them with memories of friends – the ones who really stood by her. But even friends leave, taken by death. An idle paw rubbed her cold cheek, massaging the base of a whisker that was twitching. Stepping back over to the kitchen table, she pulled out a dark oak chair and eased herself down into it. It had been a long morning and a lot of work to get those pies made, and it had worn her out. She sat at that table prolongedly, reminiscing about lost time.

A knock came to the front door. The thought of getting up and walking across two rooms to answer the door for a stranger didn't lighten her mood any. She ignored the rapping and sulked. The smell of apples and cinnamon in the air grew stronger, purging Shaina of her prior thoughts. There was another knock. The sound annoyed her. She tried to ignore it, but it was repeated. It took her a moment to realize that the knock was no longer at the front door, but coming from the side door near the kitchen sink. Looking out the window that was the upper half of the door, she saw the top of somebunnies head. One of her ears lifted just slightly, curious about who might be at her doorstep.

Her elbows groaned as her arms pushed against the table, straining to help her stand up. Then she made her way to the door, self-consciously smoothing down her cheek and neck fur as she walked. Through the white lace curtains on the door window she could now look down and see the brown furred head and vaguely familiar face of somebunny she was sure she should know. Her hand reached for the handle. The door hinge squeaked as it opened outward. The young brown bunny backed down two steps to make way for the swinging door. His half-erect half-limp ears bounced and swayed with his footsteps.

He stared up at the old white doe. Slowly his eyes went to a crinkled paper in his paw. He unfolded it carefully and took a good look at it. Then his eyes came back to bear on the doe before him nose twitching all the while.

Shaina's eyes first noted the boy's dingy white T-shirt. His faded kaki shorts had several small holes in them. Both pieces of clothing seemed too small on him. Then she spied the paper in his hand. "What have you got there, son?" she asked. She reached out a paw for the paper.

The boy handed his treasure over with care. "It's my only one," he explained weakly.

She looked down at the litter in her paw, unfolding it further. Shaina wrinkled her nose and tilted her head to get a good view out of her trifocal glasses. Her prescription was old, and needed to be updated. What met her eyes was an old photo. It was a picture of her, about ten years ago. Her nose twitched again. She looked up at him. "Come here so I can smell you." The boy nodded and obeyed. Shaina bent forward and brought her twitching nose to bear on the young one's forehead, between his ears. What she smelled surprised her.

Penetrating the fur was the scent of cigarette smoke, grease, and body odor. "Where have you been?" she asked rhetorically.

The boy answered. "Foxhound bus, Ma'am."

She nodded at his reply. It would be the place to pick up those smells, but his shirt told a story of long use. Again she sniffed, taking his scent down deep into her lungs. A foggy image came to mind. She strove to make sense of it. The answer came to her as she was exhaling. "Grant?" she asked in disbelief.

The bunny boy's fluffy tail perked up instantly at the sound of his name. His soft green eyes grew wide. "Nani?" he asked.

Shaina was flabbergasted. The scent of the near adolescent boy was unmistakably Grant's. Shaina knew all of her family members by scent. Grant's father was Trenton. Trenton's mother was Patricia. Patricia was Shaina's third oldest living child. As she looked down at her great-grandbunny the thought occurred to Shaina that Trenton would not have willingly come by bus. He had always been a lazy dead-beat, he had a car, and he lived more than fifty miles away.

The old doe looked back down at the boy. Despite the hope in his prior word his nervousness was growing. His tail had begun to tremble. His eyes were frozen on her. His nose twitched of its own accord but his body was beyond all movement. It was clear to Shaina that he was on the verge of bolting away in fear. She did the only thing she could. "Well, don't just stand there all day," she said. "Give your nani a hug and come inside."

Immediately Grant leapt up the steps and hugged her tightly. "Nani," he cried, tears beginning to stream from his eyes.

Shaina stiffened with the sudden assault on her old bones. "Dear, be careful. I'm a very old doe. I'm already fifty years old." She reached her arms down and around the boys back to hug him. As she did, she felt right through his fur to his bones. The realization puzzled her. "Grant, have you been eating? Are you well?" He continued to hold on to her for dear life. "There, there. Grant, honey, lets come inside and you can tell your nani all about it, ok?" She could feel his heavy breathing and the friction of his head nodding against her apron. For a moment she felt self-conscious. She was wearing the spunky apron still. What would people think if they saw her in it? But the thought was dismissed at Grant's snorting sob. With care she managed to coax him back into the kitchen and sit him down at the table. She set the old picture face down in the center of the table. The boy took a paper napkin from out of the napkin holder and blew his nose. "Now you hold on a moment, alright? I'm just…"

Grant reached out and grabbed her by the sleeve. "Don't go."

She smiled reassuringly, patting at his paw. "Don't worry, dear, and I'm just going to get the pies out of the oven."

The word 'pie' made Grant lick his chops guiltily. Shaina's eyes picked up the small detail as she turned and opened the oven. The thick smell of apple and cinnamon blasted into the kitchen. It filled the nose and dripped down onto the back of the tongue until it rolled forward to the tip with the sweetness of expectation. Carefully Shaina picked up the pies one at a time with a pair of oven mitts and placed them atop the stove to cool. Then she opened the kitchen window to let in the fresh, cool air. Satisfied, she closed the oven door, returned the mitts to a place beside the stove for further use later, and turned back to the table. The wear had slipped from her expression, although she still felt it in her bones. She sat down across the table from Grant in silence. The bunny's eyes shifted from Shaina to the pies, and back again. "They will be too hot to eat for a while, dear. No use in burning your mouth. I don't want to have to bring you to the doctor."

"No Ma'am." He shrunk back into his chair as if ashamed.

"Now, there's no need for that Grant. Everybody craves a little pie sometimes."

"You made pie when I came before," he said, matter-of-factly.

The memory made her grin. "Yes, I'm sure I did. I always make pie for visitors. It's apple season, you know."

His eyes shifted back over to her. "You knew I was coming?" he asked nervously.

"Of course not," she assured him, "although I would have liked to. Say, where's your father?"

The bunny shrugged.

"Is he coming?"

His nose twitched as he shook his head no and looked out the open window.

"And you came by bus?"

He nodded.

She sighed. Her eyes returned to the crumpled picture resting upside-down on the table. She could see where her name and address had been hastily scrawled on the back by a young hand.

"Who bought your ticket?"

"Billy," he answered. "He's my best friend. He borrowed it from his dad and he'll pay it back before he notices it's gone. He promised me." His voice faded away. The silence returned, heavier than the thick scent of the cooling treat on the stove. Finally, Grant spoke again. "Billy got a really nice tree house that he let me sleep in at night as long as I was quiet and didn't get caught, but his dad didn't like that, so he threw me out too."

Shaina absorbed those words slowly. Things were sure different these days. She would never have done such a thing to her own children. And Grant was so thin and small for his age that she wondered if he had been eating much at all in the last couple of years. She saw the boy's eyes shift back to the pies. "You know," she said while standing up.

"Don't throw me out Nani!"

The interruption startled her. She eased back down into her seat, tilting her floppy ears forward just slightly. "Grant. I'm not going to throw you out. You just sit here. I'm going to get you an apple, ok?" The boy nodded. She stood up, and hobbled her way over to the refrigerator. Opening it, she pulled an apple out of the crisper and the peanut butter jar out of the door. It was hard not to turn and look at the young man as Grant leaned forward and began to drool down his chin. He must have been all of seven years old, on the edge of adolescence, and here he was small enough to still be five. She shook her head, pulled two large spoons from a kitchen drawer, and walked back to the table.

"I have a secret for you Grant. Do you want to hear it?" She placed the food and flatware down next to the picture. Despite his obvious hunger, Grant didn't reach for anything. "Please, take it, eat."

"Thank you," he said. "Yes please."

"Alright," she continued, reaching for one of the spoons. "Could you open this jar for me please? These paws aren't what they used to be. Thank you. Well, my nani told me something a long time ago. You never met my nani because she died before your granddoe Patricia, my daughter, was born. Anyway, my nani told me that apples have magical powers."

Grant stared at her while his buck teeth bit into his apple greedily. Shaina smiled at the sight. "Apples can do strange things. My nani told me that if you eat an apple every day, that it will make you forget things. I tried it too. I ate an apple every day, but do you know what I forgot? My homework. My teacher got so mad that I had to stop eating apples for a whole year. Can you believe that?" She reached out for the peanut butter jar with her spoon and scooped out a small bit to lick up in silence.

The brown bunny stopped chewing. His stare seemed to fall to the table, one ear twisting to the right as he pondered her words. With food still stuffed in his cheek he said, "Will apples help me forget daddy?"

The question broke Shaina's heart. She brought a paw up to cover her eyes and tears that threatened to spill. "I don't know, Grant. But if not one apple, then maybe the pie will do it."

Slowly Grant began to chew his mouthful again. He swallowed thoughtfully, then pointed at her chest. "That's a cool apron, Nani."

The light reflected off the dampness in her eyes as she looked down to read it. 'Grandmas do it in the kitchen', it said. "Thanks. Me too."