"I don't ever want to catch sight of you near my farm again, you mischievous rascal," bellowed the elderly man, hobbling as he pursued a young woman.
"Apologies, Mr. Bradley. I'll seek your permission next time I return," she hastily exited through the door.
"I'll turn you into a metaphorical Guinea pig if our paths cross again," retorted the old man, shutting his modest farm gate and retreating indoors. "What's the story with this little girl?" he mused, chuckling to himself.
Curious about why the young woman was being pursued by the old man? Here's the backstory:
She rose early that day, determined to secure a legitimate job. Strolling through the streets of Armsville, a notice snagged her attention, bearing the words:
"Workers needed for various tasks at Mr. Bradley's. Strong men wanted. Compensation to be discussed with Mr. Bradley. I'll be waiting."
She knew she was in trouble when the store owner, where the notice hung, snapped her back to reality.
"I've warned you to keep away from my store, you brat," scolded the middle-aged woman.
"My apologies, Ms. Tiffany. It slipped my mind. I'll make sure not to forget again," she replied, retracing her steps home.
Her home was in the attic of the Thompsons' mansion, a grand house at the edge of the vast forest marking the start of Armsville. Unbeknownst to the Thompsons, they unknowingly shared their residence with a stranger who regularly helped herself to their food at night.
About a year and a half ago, she had lived with Mr. Bradley, her godfather. However, due to her series of misbehaviors, he decided to evict her. Believing she had left, she found refuge with the Thompsons. Yet, her luck ran out when Mr. Bradley discovered her snoozing in his stables.
At that time, she was already employed by the Thompsons, enjoying the comforts of the mansion. The notion of accepting Mr. Bradley's job offer began to take root in her disorganized mind, leading her to transform herself into the description on the notice.
Dressed in blue baggy pants, a brown-belt with a cobra buckle, a collared shirt, dark inner vest, black hat, fake mustache, white socks, and black thread boots, she admired her disguised reflection before venturing out.
The two-mile journey to Mr. Bradley's took an hour as she practiced her masculine voice.
Arriving at Bradley's house, she found several strong-looking men waiting for interviews. Despite initial apprehension, she took a seat, greeting and squeezing into the empty space between three men.
"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, maintaining her male voice. A few responded.
"So? Um... we are... hmm... good, right?" she awkwardly asked, receiving no response. Opting for silence, she awaited her turn.
After several comings and goings, it was her chance.
Entering the room clumsily, she found Mr. Bradley seated with a teacup, sporting ridiculous fake eyeglasses at the start of his nose.
"Please come in, young man," he beckoned.
"Thank you, sir."
"What's your name, son?"
"My name? I'm... um... Patrick Smith, sir."
"Oh, a newcomer to town, Mr. Patrick. I haven't had a Smith in Armsville."
"Yes, sir. I arrived yesterday and saw the notice, thinking it could be my chance for a job. I really need this since I just started over in this new town."
"Oh, yes? Where are you from, Mr. Patrick?" Bradley inquired.
"Um, I'm from Hemingsville, sir."
"Oh... Hemingsville? A nice town with nice people. I can see you're a good man. Since you've just arrived, I'll have you as my new worker."
"Thank you, sir."
"So, can you do farm work? Care for the animals?"
"Absolutely, sir. I can handle that."
"When can you start?" Bradley asked.
"Right away, sir."
"Good. James will show you around as I continue with the interviews. Welcome to Bradley's, son."
"Thank you, sir," she said as James led her out, Bradley smirking with delight.
From the house, they passed the quarters and lily gardens to the farm.
The land teemed with maize, pigs, sheep, cows, goats, and a courtyard of hens. "You'll need to feed these animals, Mr. Smith," James instructed. "And clean up after them."
"Alright," she replied.
"Follow me. I'll show you where to find the food and where the waste is dumped."
"I think I can figure that out for myself, James. Mr. Bradley needs you now. Thank you again."
"Sure you can handle it on your own?"
"Of course, James. You're an honorable man. Mr. Bradley is lucky to have you," she praised as James returned, leaving her alone. Smirking, she wondered where to begin and entered the stables.
Five hours into her shift, James returned to check on her. To his surprise, she was nowhere in sight, and the animals appeared neglected. No work had decreased, but a lot had been added.
Searching for her, he found a leg protruding from the horse stables and investigated. There, he found her other leg stuck in a hole, attempting to free herself.
"Hey, Patrick, are you okay?" inquired James.
"No! I've been stuck in this hole for some time. Can you help pull me out?" she pleaded.
"Alright," James said as he grabbed her underarms and gently freed her.
"Thank you."
"Hurry up. The boss is almost doing a roll walk to inspect what the new guys have done."
"Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can," she assured as James returned to his work. "That was close. I really needed that rest," she admitted to herself.
Despite claiming to complete her duties swiftly, she indeed did – clearing cuttings, discarding waste, and feeding animals. It was a breeze for her, having lived a similar routine before.
Three hours later, Bradley arrived with James, both impressed by the outstanding work "Patrick" had accomplished. Bradley instructed her to stop for the day and receive payment.
She arrived early, waiting calmly as Bradley collected other new workers from the fields.
After about thirty minutes, Bradley returned to his office, finding "Patrick" seated patiently.
"You did an excellent job. I think we've found a permanent employee-employer relationship here."
"Thank you, sir."
"Here's your compensation for today... ninety-four-seven cents," Bradley said, handing the money to "Patrick," who accepted it.
Then, as she took the money, the fake mustache fell from her lip, and Bradley immediately recognized her.
"Bisila? So it's been you all this damn time. What did I say?" Bradley growled. "Am I in trouble, Godfather?" she wondered, smirking. "You've been making a fool out of me, and I still took you in as Patrick Smith? What can I do with you, child?" "Forgive me and let me come back and stay with you. Please, Godfather." "Have you changed?" inquired Bradley with a demanding face. "Yeah." "When was that, child?" "Today. This morning." "Get out of my sight, Bisila," began the old gentleman as he walked up from his seat. "You have lost it already." "Get out, you piece of..." he said as Bisila set off running out of the room to the yard, then through the gardens out of a small gate as Bradley continued limping after her. "I don't ever want to see you again around my farm, you little rascal," yelled the old grey. "Sorry Mr. Bradley. I will ask for your permission next time I return," responded she, chuckling. "I will slaughter you like a Guinea pig if I ever see you again," replied
"What if I don't want to?" Bisila nagged with her hands on her hips. "Then I will cause you trouble until you accept to become my employee," answered Mr. James, showing her into the carriage. "Listen, young lady, my son will be arriving in Armsville tomorrow, and I'd like you to be settled in by today. I will have Lady Matilda show you around as soon as you get there." "I hope you won't regret the mess I will cause in your home. My charms are irresistible, Mr. James." "I don't think I will, and by the way, maybe all you needed to change was this chance. I want to give it to you." "But I have some rules of my own, Mr. James." Bisila was seriously tamed as they rode back to the James mansion. "Are you giving me orders around my own house?" smirked James, surprised. "You don't want them. You can just leave me here and head on back to your house. I can still get by on my own." "Alright, what are the rules?" settled in for Mr. James to listen carefully. "One, I hate calling you Mr.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," greeted Bisila, her eyes catching on the fact that she was the lady of the house, which was fortunately correct. "Who is this weirdly dressed girl in our house?" asked Ms. James with an air in her eyes. Ms. James looked like a very elegant, blonde woman who was majestically built. She had very bright blue eyes that commanded attention. She wore a distinguished shade of nail polish, specially stocked for her from London. Her long black hair gave her a distinguished, mischievous appearance, and she always stood tall to confront anything that threatened her luxurious lifestyle. Apparently, the moment Ms. James set her eyes on Bisila, a grasp in her heart built, giving their relationship a very unbearable start. "Now when I look at the two of you, your resemblance mesmerizes," complimented Mr. James, who was seated in front of the two. Evidently, they really did look alike, sharing the color of eyes and hair. Bisila was clearly slim despite wearing more dist