Alice, Etc

Chapter Two

Though the path down to the brook was familiar to Alice, she allowed the Hatter to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow and lead her along the weaving slope. She almost had thought that it was too intimate a gesture to allow a relative stranger, but in truth he was no stranger-just an old companion returned, much like an old school chum, or a pen-pal whose pen had fallen silent.

She had to admit to herself that his introduction as the Hatter from her childhood had summoned in her mind something of a struggle. She had carried on all these years without thinking too much of those adventures of her halcyon years. They blended seamlessly into the easy narrative of summers with her sisters and every move the family made to accommodate her father's professorship. Now, as she strode arm-in-arm with one of the inhabitants of the strange land she wandered through, she thought perhaps she ought to delve into these memories in an attempt to divine truth or madness from them. This man was surely real, though it seemed almost impossible that he would be.

Alice looked over at the Hatter. She squinted at the freckles that dotted his round, upturned nose. The girl didn't quite know what she was looking for, and trying to debate her own sanity with herself was making the headache worse. She looked away and firmly resolved to ignore the issue in perpetuity, or at least until the curiosity that the Hatter presented in her life was resolved.

They were walking along the gravel path, weaving back and forth between the thin, tall trees. Even in the midst of a rainy summer, the forest's branches were sparse-the leaves that grew were long, skeletal, and angular as the trees. High above, the grey sky was padded with heavy clouds. The path sloped down, and Alice could already hear the brook as it babbled along.

The Hatter had so far walked along in uncharacteristic silence, nodding approvingly at the tightly packed thin trees and the blanket of moss and wild grasses that grew alongside the path. Somewhere behind them, a bird took up a call, and the Hatter looked up suddenly, grinning broadly.

"Ah, England," he cried. "What noble country. So quaint and natural. I have the feel of burrowing oneself under a well-worn comforter at the end of a long day."

"You've picked quite the awful season to do such burrowing," Alice remarked, feeling a bead of sweat trickle from the bottom of her hairline to the small of her back. There were too many layers necessary for services in the country parish, and her Sunday best was absolutely not suited for this jaunt about the countryside.

"I daresay you may be right on that one, old bean. What kind of fire has Old Scratch got roaring beneath us today?" The Hatter had slung his ridiculous orange coat over one shoulder and was at present rolling up his shirtsleeves, revealing bare freckled forearms that showed the physical evidence of some kind of manual labor. That is to say, Alice noticed the tight muscles and how she could feel them strain under her fingers as he rolled the opposite sleeve back. She coughed loudly, tearing her eyes away, but not before he looked over to her in alarm.

The Hatter suddenly stopped dead on the path, looking this way and that in a panic she couldn't quite read. "Have I summoned the devil himself with my lark?" He shook his fist at nothing in particular and belted, "Confound ye and your ilk, Evil One! Leave the young lady alone in the name of..." he faltered, looking at the girl with some confusion. "Well, in the name of Alice, I suppose," he finished somewhat lamely.

She shook her head, and held up a slim hand. "I am perfectly fine, Mr. Hatter," she coughed once more, to clear her throat, "No need to conduct yourself into an exorcism at the moment."

"Thank heavens for that, I'm quite the skeptic," the Hatter resumed leading her down to the creek. "And just Hatter will do, the Mister is quite unearned."