Bartholomew and His Band of 12

Novella in Progress

Bartholomew is extremely odd, quietly gorgeous and just a little bit wicked.

The townsfolk attribute his peculiar nature to having been raised by Mae and Matilde, the eccentric owners of Richford Antiques on Main. They credit his beauty to the fortunate genes of the parents who carelessly left him behind. But the mischievous part? That remains an unknown.

Everyone who still lives in town holds vivid memories of the August day Bartholomew was found weaving a daisy chain beneath the old elm at midnight. (He was just one day older than three.) They retell their stories with the passionate voices of someone who has seen the Messiah.

“The air had the hush, hush of a softly glowing candle,” whispers Sally to a relative who is just passing through.

 “The moon, when it crested the horizon,” recalls Jacob, “filled the entire sky. And the Missisquoi River reversed course several times before dawn… as if it had lost its way.”

And there’s always Hannah, of course, who declares with utmost certainty, “Everything eaten that day tasted of lavender.”

---

The old Victorian which doubles as an antique store was built in 1865. With nine bedrooms, seven bathrooms and a caretaker’s cottage, the home has far more space than a young boy could ever need, as do the expansive hearts of Bartholomew’s adopted parents whom he affectionately calls M&M. 

Maeve and Matilde never expected to have a child, but like the flower that surfaces from a crack in the sidewalk, his presence could not be denied or dismissed. So they raised him, as if he were their own.  

Bartholomew knows, instinctively, that he dodged a bullet when his parents departed without him. So even though the town of Richford is slowly dying, and the days are painfully dull, he feels grateful. The spaces in their shared home are both vast and intimate, impossibly static and magically everchanging. What more could one possibly hope for?

Climbing the stairs as a toddler, he vaguely remembers, was fraught with danger. So much so that Maeve had to tie a piece of bright gingham ribbon from her overalls to his to keep him out of harm’s way while she was helping customers.

The ribbon was just long enough that he could tuck himself beneath the carousel filled with fake furs, double-breasted sports jackets, and vintage pea coats but not so long that he could reach the front window display filled with colored glass vases, which looked as tantalizing as candy to the eyes of a child.

For the first year, the ribbon was only a few yards long, but overtime its length grew, until, as all parents know, the day came to cut loose the ribbon entirely. By age 7, Bartholomew was scaling and descending the four flights from basement to attic with ease, and by age 12 he had learned to do so without making a single sound. 

Now, at age 15, he has grown so catlike, that he can enter and exit a room without anyone knowing that he’s there. And much to M&M’s dismay, he has also learned how to boldly and effortlessly climb out of windows, onto the rooftop and then rappel to the earth below using ropes cleverly anchored to the chimney.

This means that occasionally a customer on the second floor might reasonably see a shape flying past the window beyond the hat rack and wonder if their eyes deceive! They run to the glass and peer down below and find nothing but a rope waving gently in the nonexistent breeze.

---

Travelers who come in search of things like antique milk glass or rare silver thimbles or a treasured Betty Boop figurine often leave empty handed, but they frequently hold a hazy, slightly nagging memory of someone sitting in an armchair in the corner pretending to read. And despite their best efforts to recall specific details in conversations with friends when they return home or in the pages of their diaries, the adjectives they use always seem to come up slightly lacking. 

---

Nobody in Richford ever has children anymore. Everyone young enough to raise a family always moves away to Buffalo or Lewiston or across the border to Montreal. Bigger places with music and people and bustle and feasts and endless possibilities.

This means that for as long as he can remember, Bartholomew’s companions have always been either the elder townsfolk who drop by periodically to have coffee on the porch with Matilde, or the people and pets who happen into the store somewhere between point A and point B.

There are rare occasions when he is able to get a sense of someone when they are patiently rummaging on a lazy afternoon or a snowy morn in winter. But those whom he has come to know best are the guests who stay overnight during M&M’s famed solstice and equinox parties. 

The seasonal celebrations have grown so renowned that people far and wide come to partake. For one 24-hour period, tents go up all around their house, bonfires are lit, rooms in the caretaker’s house are shared with strangers and their street comes fully alive. And then, when the party ends, Richford settles back into its fabric of stillness. 

Throughout the festivities, Bartholomew picks someone upon whom to focus, taking note of the simplest details – hand gestures, breath, movement, friendships, sadness, scarves, tone, eyes, laughter, and how they speak or if they speak at all. And then he seeks to deeply understand them. Where they come from, who they are, and where their hearts might lead them.

In truth, he doesn’t fully grasp the significance of this simple doing which starts late one night after even the stars have fallen asleep. This is the night that Bartholomew realizes that of all those who come and go, there are indeed a hand-picked dozen – a band of 12 – whose futures will become tied to him in the most wonderous of ways.